


Cat of El Cajon

by ljsilverman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljsilverman/pseuds/ljsilverman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya races cars. At 18 she leaves home and heads to San Diego in search of her estranged brother Jon and a larger racing circuit. Along the way, she meets Gendry Waters, a mechanic, and her life begins to get a lot more interesting. Modern AU. (Sorry I forgot to keep uploading on here- so here are like 9 chapters at once)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is posted and in progress on fanfiction. I'm not trying to get more reviews, but my friend told me to post my work on this site because it has different readers. I will be updating on the sites simultaneously. 
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: This is a slow burn people. If you stick with me, I promise you'll be satisfied, but if you're looking for a quick read- this isn't your story.
> 
> Enjoy!

Arya speeds down the highway, shifting the gears of her Nissan 300zx, and swerving between cars going too slow her taste. The California sun beats hot and steady through her windows as she races down the long roads. It's an eighteen-hour trip from Bozeman, Montana to San Diego, California. She did the first leg yesterday, ten hours straight, hands loosely clutching the leather wheel, wind whipping at her face, music blasting from the stereo. And now, on her second day, she's only an hour away from her destination.

Her parents think she's attending the University of San Diego. When the acceptance letter came in the mail last spring, her father smiled and ruffled her messy brown hair. Her mother wasn't as happy. "Jon lives in San Diego," she said, her tone sharp and cutting.

Arya chewed her lip before responding. "I know, but-"

"I don't want you involving yourself with what he does down there. It's not safe. You remember what happened. I won't allow you to-"

"Mom. They have a great Animal Sciences major,  _and_  they're giving me a full scholarship. Besides- Sansa lives there too."

"Cat, she's right," her father said, taking his wife's hand gently in his own. "Arya is an adult now, and she's making a smart decision. She'll be fine."

"You say that now, but this little weasel always manages to sniff her way into trouble."

Arya didn't like lying to her parents, but it had to be done. She had to get to San Diego one way or another. And if it meant going behind her parents' backs, than so be it.

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.  _Everything will be fine._ It's something she has to keep telling herself. Up ahead, she sees the exit sign, and a small smile tugs at her lips. She glances at Nymeria who is sleeping softly in the passenger seat. "We've made it," she says, half to Nymeria and half to herself. "And everything will be fine."

* * *

The sun is setting by the time Arya pulls into Jon's apartment complex. She glances at the scrap of paper, even though she already has the scrawled address memorized. Robb gave her the address after days of begging and pleading. "Don't tell, mom," he had warned her. She had refused to tell him  _why_  she wanted the address, but Robb was smart. He probably figured it out.

"Come on, Nymeria," Arya says, opening the car door. The warm, dry air feels good on her skin, a sharp contrast to the cold nights she grew up with. The apartment complex is dark, quiet. Most of the windows are shaded, but Arya can sees shadows of people walking back and forth and the occasional flicker of a television. Nymeria trots at Arya heels, following her as she makes her way to Jon's door.

Arya takes a slow, calming breath before knocking. This is the moment. If Jon refuses to help her, the entire plan will go to hell.

She knocks three times.

At first, she thinks Jon isn't home, and she bites her lip, wondering what to do next. She's about to head back to her car when she hears footsteps sounding down the hallway. Without so much as a "who is it," Jon opens the door.

He's a lot older than she remembered. She hasn't seen Jon for six years, and although he was already tall when he left, he's filled out a lot more since then, and there's a scruffy beard on his pale face. His dark eyes flash in surprise when they land on her.

"Hi Jon," she says tentatively. She's anxious, her hands restless and fiddling with her car keys. She glances at Nymeria. The faithful dog at her side has a calming effect.

"Arya?" Jon looks around, as if checking to see if anyone else is with her.

"It's just me," Arya says. She clutches her bag, adjusting its weight on her shoulder. "Could I come in?"

Jon stands there, shocked and silent for a moment longer before saying, "Yeah. Of course. Come in."

She follows Jon inside of the apartment. It's small and plain, but surprisingly neat. He leads her down a narrow hallway into the kitchen. He sits down at the small Formica table, and Arya does the same. For a while, they just stare at each other. Jon was never very talkative. Sansa was always the one who could meet a stranger and engage them in an hour-long conversation about the political situation in Burundi or some other topic that was equally uninteresting to Arya.

But not Jon.

Jon was quiet. He always preferred to stare people down until they either left him alone or provoked him into a fight.

"It's been a long time," Arya finally says. "Six years, I think."

"You were just a little girl when I left." Jon leans forward in his chair, staring Arya straight in the eyes. "Look at you now. God." He rubs his face and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm happy to see you. I really am. But this is all so surreal. How did you find me?"

"Robb," Arya says.

"Right." Jon looks down at his hands as he draws them together. "He visits sometimes."

"Look, if you don't want to talk about everything, it's all right. That's not what I came here for. You know I never blamed you for what happened to Bran, and Robb didn't either, or dad, or-"

"But mom did. And she always will." His voice is hard, bitter. Six years ago, Arya would have gone over to Jon and hugged him tightly around the stomach, her little head barely reaching his chest. But it's been so long. Too many years of silence. She doesn't know how to react around her brother- doesn't know how to help. Jon takes a deep breath before standing up. "Do you want something to drink?" He asks, abruptly changing the conversation. "I think I have some tea bags somewhere..." He starts rummaging through drawers and cabinets.

"It's all right, Jon. I'm fine. Really I just-" a yawn breaks through as Arya speaks, and she begins to realize just how tired she is. "Sorry. It's been a long drive. Do you think I could maybe sleep here for the night?"  _And for the next few months_ , she amends silently.

"Of course. Let me just grab a blanket, and I'll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed-"

"No, the couch is fine for me. Really. I don't want to put you out or anything."

"Well, if you're sure." Arya stands up and walks towards Jon. He's still much taller than her, but he doesn't seem like the giant that she trailed behind as a little kid. "I've missed you, Jon. I hope you know that," she says before stepping forward and hugging him tightly.

He's hesitant at first, but eventually his arms wrap around her skinny frame. "I've missed you too, Arya." He breaks the hug and smiles softly. "Honestly. It's great to see you- even if I'm still not sure why you're here."

"Yeah, I guess I should explain that. Is it all right if we talk in the morning? I've had a long drive."

"Sure." Jon glances at Nymeria who's been sitting quietly on the kitchen floor, eyes trained on Arya. "I let Snow wander around at night. He gets too cooped up in this apartment sometimes." Jon smiles. "I get too cooped up in this apartment sometimes. Maybe Nymeria wants to join him."

"That's a good idea. I feel bad. She's had to sit in the car for the past two days."

"Come on then," Jon says. "I'll grab you a blanket so you can get some sleep."

* * *

Arya wakes up with light streaming in through the living room window. She can hear Jon rustling around in the kitchen. For a moment, she considers going back to sleep. Her eyelids are heavy, and the blanket is soft and warm. She could just curl up and...no. Anxious thoughts are already creeping back into her mind. She needs to talk to Jon and tell him why she's really here. She needs to find out if he'll help her or send her back home with her tail between her legs.

Yawning, she pulls herself off the couch and heads towards the kitchen. Jon is at the table, biting into a piece of toast as she enters. "Morning," she says.

He smiles, crumbs falling onto his plate. "Morning." He gestures towards the table. "There's some toast and butter. Milk in the fridge. Sorry I don't have much else. I'm not much of a cook."

"That's all right," Arya says. "I'm not either."

She pulls up a chair and sits down at the table. She picks up a piece of toast, but realizes she's too nervous to eat it.

"So," Jon says.

"So."

"I guess you should tell me why you're here. I'm so happy to see you- but-"

"I know." Arya looks down at her hands. There's grease under her short, bitten fingernails. "I don't really know where to start-" she looks at Jon and his dark eyes are trained on hers. "I never blamed you, Jon, really, I never did. What happened with Bran-"

"I thought you said we don't need to talk about that."

"We don't. But I want to. I need you to know-" Jon's jaw is clenched tightly, but he lets her continue. "The accident was horrible, but it wasn't your fault. You weren't racing when Bran was with you. It was just a freak accident. And it's awful what happened to him," her voice softens, "awful that he lost the use of his legs, but it wasn't your fault. Mom can't blame you because a drunk driver hit you. It had nothing to do with your racing. I  _know_ you'd never do anything unsafe with Bran in the car."

"But she did blame me." Arya can hear the hurt in Jon's words.

"I know. But Bran didn't. He _doesn't_. And he's doing well, really well. I think he's going to be valedictorian. Did you know that? He's really smart. Way smarter than the rest of us. But anyways, that's not the point. My point is that I never blamed you for what happened to Bran. I never got to tell you that, because everything happened so quickly after the accident, and then I woke up one morning and you were gone." Arya is surprised by how thick her throat feels, and when she looks to Jon, she sees that his eyes are glossy with held back tears. "And for awhile, I was really mad at you. Not because of Bran, but because you left. I was too young to realize that you didn't abandon me.  _Mom_  abandoned  _you_. Sometimes I look at her and-"

"It's all right, Arya." Jon takes her hand, gripping it tightly for just a moment before releasing it. "It's all right."

"You were always my favorite, Jon. I looked up to you, followed you around-"

"Like a little dog always nipping at my heels." He smiles weakly.

"I remember all the time we spent together. The best days were when you'd take me in your car, and we'd race down the streets, fast and easy. You were always so sure with your hands on a wheel. I wanted to be just like you. Just as precise. Just as steady." Arya pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts.  _Here goes nothing._ "So when I got my license a couple years ago, I started working your old car, and then one day-" she looks up and meets Jon's hard, black eyes "One day I started racing."

The response is immediate.

Jon stands up, pushing his chair back from the table. His voice is harsh, forceful. "Arya. No." He crosses his arms. "Absolutely not. I will not let-"

 _Shit._ She didn't expect him to react like this. She wasn't prepared to hit a brick wall. "Please. Let me finish," she says quickly. "Sit back down. Just let me finish." For a moment, Jon doesn't respond, but he finally grabs his chair and sits back down, body rigid.

"I was careful. I am  _always_ careful. I trained on empty roads, watched races from the sidelines, practiced every single day for a year before every racing anybody. And mom never found out. I never got hurt. And Jon-" a smile manages to break through her worried face "I love it. I've never loved anything more in my entire life." Her voice rises, "And I'm really good at it. You should see me out on the streets. It's like I can  _fly_ Jon. Nothing makes as much sense as sitting behind that wheel does." She might be imagining it, but it looks like Jon's face is slowly softening. So she goes for it. It's time to lay all the cards on the table. "I know you still race out here in San Diego. When Robb visits, he tells me stories. Tells me you get better and better every year. So, well, I'm eighteen now, and I was hoping that maybe you could take me under your wing for a little bit, show me around and introduce me to the scene. I don't need money or anything like that. Just your help. Your advice."

"I can't do that, Arya." His voice is calm, but Arya realizes his fists are clenched tightly. "I already paralyzed one of my siblings. I'm not going to do it to another. And what does mom and dad think you're doing? Don't tell me you convinced them to let you come out here and stay with me because that'd be a fucking laugh, wouldn't it?"

"They think I'm attending the University of San Diego. And I already told you- what happened to Bran was not your fault." Arya says. "Jon, you can't make my decisions for me. I'm going to race whether you like it or not. You know that, and so do I. The question is whether or not you're going to help me."

Jon sighs, and runs a hand through his full, dark hair. "I can't have you getting hurt, Arya."

"I won't get hurt."

"You don't know that."

"You race. Why can't I? And don't you dare say it's because I'm a girl."

"It's not because you're a girl. It's because you're my kid sister, and I can't let you do something that will endanger you."

"Well it's not your decision. I'm doing it, and if you help me, than I'll probably be a lot safer in the process."

"It's not going to happen, Arya. I'm sorry. All I can say is that I love you, and I hope you change your mind."

* * *

"Shit," Arya says. She's speeding down El Cajon Boulevard when her car shudders. There's a loud grinding sound that makes Nymeria whimper and cock her head to the side. "Shit, shit."

Arya knows she should have checked out her car before taking an eighteen-hour drive, but she had been so anxious to get out of town. And now she's miles away from home, from her garage, from her tools. She bites her lip. There's a sign ahead,  **Tobho Mott's Mechanic Shop**. Arya prefers to work on her car herself, but she can't chance it breaking down before she has time to get some tools.

Arya pulls into the gravel drive. The shop looks deserted. She checks the time and realizes it's almost seven. The sun is just starting to set. "And they're probably closed," she mutters to herself. If only Jon hadn't thrown her out earlier today. He probably has a whole chest of tools somewhere in his apartment.

She gets out of the car, telling Nymeria to stay. The front door of the shop is open, so Arya walks in, a bell tinkling behind her.

The front room is empty. She rings the bell on the desk, but there's no answer. "Hello?" She calls out cautiously. She rings it again. And again.

Still no answer.

Arya hesitates before heading back behind the desk. Her car cannot break down. With Jon turning her out, she'd have nowhere to go. Her car is the only thing she has in San Diego.  _Except for Sansa_ , but Arya pushes the thought quickly away. She hasn't talked to her sister for a year, and she doesn't plan to start now.

She opens the back door that leads into the actual garage. At first the room looks empty, but then Arya spots someone. Only his legs are visible. The rest of him is hidden under the body of a car. She can hear the clinking of metal. She approaches slowly, her footsteps soft and hesitant. The man seems to be hard at work, completely oblivious to her presence. She clears her throat, but he doesn't hear her. So then, rather loudly, she says, "Excuse me."

"Oi!" The man, startled, bumps his head on the car. The thud sounds loud and painful. Slowly he slides out from under the car, rubbing a large, greased hand over his head. When he stands up, Arya has to take a step back. He's  _tall._  Her eyes quickly flick over muscled arms, over his dirty shirt that clings to a strong, broad chest.

The man takes a short breath before speaking. "What the hell do you think you're doing sneaking up on someone like that?" His eyes are angry and dark blue.

Arya immediately bites back with a sharp response. "Maybe you shouldn't leave the doors open if you don't want people just wandering in. Ever thought about that?"

"We closed an hour ago. You're trespassing."

Arya crosses her arms and sticks out her bottom lip. "You're an  _idiot._ "

His eyes are on her, dark and intense. "I don't know who you are, but I think you should know it's not polite to break into a shop and insult the manager."

"The manager?" Arya asks. "Aren't you a bit young for that?"

"I'm twenty-four." The man looks her up and down. Slowly. Appraising her with narrowed eyes. "How old are _you_? Fifteen?"

"Eighteen." Arya has looked young her entire life. It wasn't until last year that she lost some of the baby fat in her cheeks and managed to fill out something larger than a training bra. "Now are you going to help with my car or not?"

And then, the man does something really strange. He laughs at her. The laugh is deep and his blue eyes fill with amusement. "You break into my store, call me an idiot, and now you want me to help you?"

"Well, I'll pay you for it," Arya says shortly. "That is your job, right? How do you expect to stay in business if you throw out customers?"

He shakes his head. "You're impossible"

"It's a good thing you'll be working on my car and not me then, isn't it?"

"That's true." Sighing, he offers her a large, greased hand. "I'm Gendry, by the way."

"It's a pleasure," Arya says, sarcastically. She takes his hand. His rough calluses rubbing against her skin puts her on edge, and her eyes flash to his. "I'm Arya." She takes her hand away, and though unsettled, returns Gendry's stare with fierce, steady eyes. "Arya Stark."


	2. Chapter 2

Arya pulls her car into the garage. Gendry is waiting there. He's wearing a fresh work shirt, and it looks like he's wiped some of the grease off of his face.

"Let's have a look then," he says as Arya gets out of the car. But before Arya has a chance to shut the door, Nymeria bursts out of the car and rushes towards Gendry. She pushes him to the ground, pinning him down with the weight of her body and snarling with sharp teeth.

Gendry shouts, "Get 'er off!" He tries to push Nymeria away, but she's too heavy for him.

"Nymeria. Come," Arya says, whistling sharply. After a final growl, Nymeria moves off of Gendry and pads over to Arya, sitting down next to her.

"Sorry," Arya says. "She's protective."

"I didn't  _do_ anything."

"Well she didn't know that, did she?" Arya scratches Nymeria behind the ear. "She's just looking out for me."

Shaking his head, Gendry stands up. "Just make sure she keeps away from me, all right?"

"What? Scared of dogs?"

"No, but I am scared of wolves. What breed is that thing?"

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not sure. My brother found her and five others in an alley when they were pups. My parents let us keep them not knowing how big they'd get."

Gendry shakes his head, muttering "Jesus," before walking around to the front of the car. "Just pop the hood, okay?"

"Sure thing." Arya flips the latch for her hood.

"What the hell?" Gendry is staring inside the car, his eyes round and greedy.

"I might have done some work on it," Arya says, smirking.

"Might have?" Gendry whistles. "There's got to be at least $15,000 easy in this thing." Arya doesn't respond. She sidles around the car so that she's standing behind Gendry. "Look at this engine," he says, "It's got to get you at least-"

Suddenly he stops talking and turns around to face Arya. He looks her up and down slowly with intense blue eyes. She flushes under the close scrutiny. "What's a skinny girl like you doing with a racing car?"

"It was my brother's."

"And he just  _gave_ it to you? Do you know how much you could sell this thing for?"

"Why would I want to sell it?" Arya asks defensively. When Jon left home six years ago, he left his car behind too. There was a scrawled note left on the passenger seat that Arya discovered days later:  _Hey Arya, Mom wouldn't let me take the car, but I wanted to leave it with you anyways. Something to remember me by. Love, Jon._ To this day, Arya wonders why Jon left her with his old racing car if he didn't actually want her racing.

"Why would you sell it? What else are you going to do with it? It's not like you need it for racing-" Gendry trails off as he realizes that Arya is staring at him staunchly with crossed arms. He smirks, full lips curving slowly. "You don't  _race_ , do you?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

Gendry's smile grows wider. "You're telling me that you, a tiny eighteen year old girl,races? Can you even reach the steering wheel?"

"Shut up, stupid!" Arya rushes forward and pushes Gendry hard in the chest with two splayed hands. Unfortunately, he's so tall and broad that the push doesn't do much except make him laugh, blue eyes filled with amusement. "I  _said_  it's none of your business," Arya continues. "Now are you going to do your job or not?"

Gendry raises his hands in mock forfeit. Arya wishes she could slap the grin right off of his face. "I'll help," he says. "But I won't get to it until tomorrow. The shop closed an hour ago."

"I'll pay you double, triple," Arya says hurriedly. She can't leave her car in the shop tonight. She needs her car. She'd be lost without it.

Gendry raises an eyebrow. "What's the rush?"

"Triple. Take it or leave it."  
He shrugs his shoulders. "Triple it is."

* * *

"You're not doing it right. Here, give it to me. Scoot over." Arya sidles up next to Gendry and then tries to snatch the wretch out of his hands. "You've got to be gentle with this engine. It isn't some junkyard piece of-"

"Excuse me, I thought I was the mechanic. Give me that." Annoyed, Gendry yanks the wrench right back from Arya. He has to tug it a few times before he can jerk it from her small hands.

"Are you sure you're a mechanic? Because you're doing it wrong," Arya says.

"I am not."

"You  _are_ too." Arya doesn't like other people touching her car. Especially if they're strangers. If she had it her way, she'd kick Gendry out of the garage right now so she could just do the work herself. However, she doesn't think it likely that Gendry would go for that plan. "Look," she says, moving closer to Gendry so that she can reach inside of her car. "You see this part, right here? My brother built it custom. You have to grease it up a little before you mess with it, otherwise it'll get stuck and rip up the-" Arya trails off, suddenly very aware of how close she's standing to Gendry, his tall body hovering over her own, his warm breath raising hairs on the back of her neck. The man is as annoying as he is attractive, and Arya has to take a slow, steady breath before continuing. "It just takes some care. Be gentle with it. It's not a-"

"Machine?" Gendry finishes. "Look, let's compromise. Why don't you grab a stool and watch me work. I understand the car is important to you. I get it, all right?" His blue eyes flash to hers. "But I can't get my job done with you hovering around like this."

Arya chews her lip for a moment before finally relenting. "Fine. But if you do one thing wrong-"

"I won't."

"But if you do-"

"I won't." Gendry's blue eyes continue to stare her down, dark and steady, until Arya finally takes a step back and lets the stubborn mechanic do his job.

For the next hour, Arya paces around the body shop. Every now and then she starts hovering over Gendry until he snaps at her and says, "Away," in a low, rough voice. And then she continues to pace, always looking out of the corner of her eye to make sure Gendry doesn't mess up her car. But his strong hands seem sure and his blue eyes intent.

Eventually Arya relaxes enough to sit down on a bench and watch from a distance. "How long have you worked here?" She asks.

Gendry's voice is muffled as he leans inside Arya's car. "Since I was a boy."

"Was it your father's shop?"

"I don't know my father."

"So your mother's-"

"I don't know her either."

Arya leaves it there, not wanting to probe further. She doesn't like discussing her family life, so she can't imagine why anyone else would. "It's nice," she continues. The shop is filled with bits and parts, piles of old machinery, but everything looks clean and worn, a show of good use.

"Thanks."

She bites her lip before saying, "Do you work on race cars often?"

"Sometimes."

"It's popular in San Diego. Racing." She chews on the corner of her nail. "At least that's what I've heard."

"It is."

 _Well you aren't much of a talker, are you_ , Arya thinks. If it was hard getting Jon to talk, it's like pulling teeth from Gendry. Silent, brooding men. The whole lot of them are stupid. "Lots of good streets for it. Long ones. Empty." She looks up. Gendry's head is still bent over the car, his hands fiddling with clinking metal. "Where are the popular streets, you know, for racing?"

For a while, Gendry doesn't respond. The shop is silent save the sound of him tinkering with the car's engine. Arya bides her time. She can tell Gendry isn't a man that can be pushed or rushed into anything.

Eventually, he puts his wrench down and stands up straight, turning around the face Arya. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up to wipe the grease off of his face. Arya can't help but glance at the revealed, taut muscles. When he drops the shirt and looks to her, Arya's entire face flushes. "What's with the questions?" He asks.

Arya can't meet his eyes. She was never a very good liar, despite years of practice. "Just curious."

"Really." He wipes hands on his apron. "You wouldn't want to be racing yourself, would you? That's not why you're asking."

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "I don't see how it's any of your business."

"I don't know where you're from, but San Diego is dangerous. Racing here is dangerous. I'm not going to let you-"

"Let me?" Arya laughs, short and sharp. "Who do you think you are? My father? My brother? No." She jumps up off the bench and strides toward Gendry. With one finger, she pokes him sharply in the chest. " _You're_  a stranger. A mechanic I met an hour ago. You can't tell me what to do. You can fix my car and then either help me or shut up."

"No, no. You brought me into this the second you opened that scheming mouth of yours. I'm not going to let your idiocy stain my conscience. A little thing like you will get eaten alive on these streets. If you ask to race, they'll laugh at you. And if you  _somehow_  manage to get into a race, they'll run you off the side of the road and strip your car of its parts." Gendry lowers his voice and steps closer to Arya. She lifts her chin stubbornly to meet his stare. "If you're lucky, they'll leave it at that, but don't think for a second they're above harming a little girl." His eyes narrow, and Arya feels uncomfortable under his gaze, all her nerves on alert. "I don't plan on aiding with your downfall, Arya Stark."

His argument is so similar to Jon's, that for a moment, Arya is almost convinced. She's fast and she's good. That's a fact. But what makes her think she can just show up in a new city and start racing with the best of them? They won't trust her, and they sure as hell won't like her. "Maybe you're right," Arya says slowly.

"Really?" The concession makes Gendry back up a step, and Arya is thankful for the open space between them. Having him so close was messing with her concentration.

"Don't look so surprised,  _stupid._ I didn't say I'd listen to you. You just made some good points. That's all."

"So what then?"

"I'm going to race. It's not like you could stop me." She looks up. "But maybe you could help me."

"I just said I wasn't going to help you."

"And I just said that wasn't going to stop me. Don't you listen? One way or the other, I'll be racing. It's what I do, and I don't plan on stopping." She bites her lip. "But maybe you could help me. I just need you to introduce me to some people. Show me around. If you work on the cars, you must know the racers. And I'll pay you."

Gendry narrows his eyes. "You sure have a lot of money."

"I win a lot of races." That was only half a lie. Arya did win races, but she didn't get the chance to compete much. Most of her money came from her family. They were pretty well off, even after her father got fired.

But Gendry didn't need to know that. It's not good to show off money around people who don't have it.

"I don't know," Gendry responds. He glances back at Arya's car. "I mean, sure, I know some people, but I'm not- you know I'm not one of them. I'm their mechanic, not their friend."

"How much will it take?"

"I need to see you what you can do first."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to get you into a race without seeing you drive first. I don't want to look like an idiot, now do I?"

"Well, you  _are_  an idiot."

"You're not helping your case."

Arya inhales deeply. She doesn't have time to spiral into another stubborn argument with this dumb mechanic. "Finish the car. I'll come back tomorrow night. And I'll show you exactly what I can do."

* * *

The motel is acceptable at best. Technically Arya has enough money to stay somewhere nice, but she doesn't know how long it will take for her to start making a profit off of racing, and she doesn't want to run her bank account too low. Especially after paying Gendry almost $2,000 for the work on her car and as a sign of good faith on their agreement. Even though the account belongs to Arya, her parents can look at it whenever they want. She doesn't need a phone call from her father asking how she managed to spend almost $5,000 in a week.

"Come, Nymeria," Arya says. The huge dog jumps out of the car, and Arya rushes her to the front door of the motel room. There's a strict 'no pets' policy, and Nymeria isn't exactly a small Chihuahua that she can tuck in her purse.

As Arya walks inside of the room, the bed immediately catches her eye. She looks at it longingly. She's exhausted. It's been a very long couple of days. She glances at the illuminated clock on the nightstand: 9:45 at night. Usually way before her bedtime, but she's pretty sure she could crawl into bed now and sleep until noon.

Instead, Arya slips her cell phone out of her pocket. She has eight missed calls. One from her father, one from Bran, and six from her mother.

She's tempted to ignore all of them, but the longer she puts off her mother, the worse the repercussions will be. Sighing, she presses the call button. Her mother picks up on the second ring. "Where on earth have you been? I've been calling all day and night. I was worried sick. You can't just make a long trip like that and not check in-"

"I'm sorry," Arya says, trying her best to sound genuine. "I've just been really busy that's all."

"Well that's no excuse."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She can hear her mother take a calming breath. To be fair, raising six kids isn't easy, especially not when one is paralyzed, one gets kicked out of home, and the husband gets fired. Arya can understand why her mother is always stressed, but it doesn't make talking to her any easier. "Well, how is it? Is your roommate nice? When do classes start?"

"It's great. I'm just really busy, so don't freak if I don't call every day, all right?"

"All right, all right. And remember, call your sister. She's nearby, and I know she'd love to see you."

"I doubt that," Arya mutters. She loves Sansa, but they never really got along. Arya spent her childhood working on cars with Jon, and Sansa spent it mooning over boys and dressing up like princesses and pop stars.

"Call her. For me."

"Is dad there?"

"Still at work. I'll tell him you called."

"Okay. Tell Bran too."

"Of course."

"Good-night."

"I love you."

"Love you too." Arya hangs up the phone. She bites her bottom lip. She really hates lying to her parents, but there's really not another option. Hopefully once she gets settled, she'll be able to tell them the truth. But until then, she's depending on their money. And if they find out she's using her savings for racing, that will be the end of that. They'll have her on the next plane home and attending community college within a week.

She tells herself everything will be fine. That her parents love her. That when her mother finds out what she's up to, she wont desert Arya like she deserted Jon.

But sometimes Arya worries that the lies will keep piling up until one day, no matter how hard she looks, she won't be able to find the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter! @LJSilverman


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Arya wakes up, midday light is already shining through her curtains. She rolls over in bed, snuggling deeper into the pillows. Last night she turned the air conditioner all the way up, letting the cold air blast over her. San Diego might be pretty, but the air is too warm for her taste.

Arya is about to close her eyes and go back to sleep when Nymeria whines softly.

"Stop it," Arya mumbles. She hasn't had time to sleep in for weeks now, and she wants to take full advantage of the empty day stretched ahead of her, but Nymeria keeps whining. "I mean it, Nymeria," Arya warns.

Apparently Nymeria doesn't take the threat very seriously because she pounces on the bed. Arya let's out a loud  _oomph_ as Nymeria crawls over her and settles down on her stomach. "Off, fatty." Nymeria weighs more than Arya does, and her furry coat is blocking all the air conditioning. "Come on. Off."

Nymeria licks Arya's face with her large, rough tongue before standing up and dragging Arya's comforter away with her teeth. "All right, all right. I get the point."

Arya drags herself out of bed and pads barefooted across the room to where Nymeria is anxiously waiting at the door. "I'm surprised you don't just open it yourself," Arya mutters. Her dog has always been suspiciously intelligent, but without opposable thumbs, she'll always need Arya's help.

As soon as Arya opens the door, Nymeria bolts outside towards the unfenced, sparse woods surrounding the motel. "Don't run far," Arya yells. At home, Arya always let Nymeria run free. It was safe enough because everyone in the neighborhood recognized Nymeria and her siblings. But Arya can't imagine San Diego strangers acting too friendly towards a giant wolf dog. Pushing these uneasy thoughts out of her mind, Arya heads back inside and towards the bathroom.

The shower isn't very hot, but the water pressure is nice and strong. Arya lets the water rush over her as she smoothes back her short, dark hair. She can't remember the last time she washed it. Probably at least a week ago. It's almost to her shoulders now, and she wonders if it's time for another haircut. She prefers to keep her hair and nails short. As a racer, long hair and nails aren't very practical. Her hair would whip around in the wind too much, and long nails would poke holes in her racing gloves.

The bathroom is foggy when Arya steps out of the shower. She quickly towels herself off before walking naked into the bedroom, something she never had the privilege to do at home. She was always scared that Rickon or her mother or whoever else would barge into the room without warning. Growing up with a big family had its upsides- but privacy was definitely not one of them.

Arya starts shoving around her clothing, pulling things out of her suitcase and throwing them to the ground. Eventually she pulls out her favorite pair of black skinny jeans and a soft black tank top. Her mother always complains that Arya doesn't own enough feminine clothing. Maybe she's right. But at least her clothes fit better now. The tank fits her snuggly, just barely exposing her chest that suddenly decided to develop last year. When Arya looks at herself in the mirror, the thought of Gendry flickers through her mind.

Gendry the mechanic. He's one of the most rude, stubborn people Arya has ever met, but he seems to know his way around a car. And that's something Arya finds ten times more attractive than his strong arms or blue eyes. Not that those are bad to look at. Yesterday, she actually had a bit of trouble not staring.

Arya shakes her head, trying to push away these thoughts. Gendry is her mechanic, and she's a skinny little girl who needs his help. She doesn't have time to get distracted by the silly infatuations that Sansa always dreamt up about every man that entered her life. She won't let chiseled abs get in the way of her racing career. She's not  _stupid_.

Sighing, Arya runs a hand through her wet hair, reminding herself that single-minded determination is the only way to get what she wants. She grabs her car keys and heads out into the afternoon sun.

When Arya gets home from running errands, Nymeria appears out of the evening shadows, stalking slowly towards her. "Good girl," Arya says, relieved that she didn't run off.

Arya's arms are full of bags, and she has to fumble with her keys for a moment before opening the motel door. Nymeria follows her inside and immediately starts sniffing one of the bags. "Hold on, hold on," Arya says before extracting the huge bag of dog food. She rips of the top of the bag with her teeth and throws it to the ground, letting Nymeria attack it without the formality of a bowl.  _My mother would have a heart attack_ , Arya thinks.

As Nymeria eats, Arya starts unpacking the rest of the bags. She bought enough groceries to last her for a week, and it takes a few minutes to shove them all in the mini fridge. She also had to buy some new clothing to help adjust to the hot weather. Arya pulls out a couple pairs of new shorts and tanks; she didn't bother trying them on at the store. They were cheap, and she assumes they'll fit. Even though Arya grew up with plenty of money, she has to keep on a strict budget from now on if she doesn't want to make her parents suspicious of what she's really up to down in San Diego.

Arya finishes unpacking and glances at her watch. It's almost ten at night, and she wonders where the day went.  _I guess that's what happens when you sleep until almost four in the afternoon_ , she thinks. Arya turns to Nymeria who is now lying face down in a mess of dry dog food. "I'll be back soon," Arya says. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

Nymeria looks up, cocking her head to the side and staring straight at Arya. For a second, Arya can swears she hear Nymeria saying, "You too."

* * *

Gendry is waiting outside the shop when Arya pulls into the lot. He's wearing dark jeans and a black tank top. Arya can't help but appreciate the sight of those long, muscled arms she was thinking about earlier today. She's glad he can't see her expression from inside of the dark car. She flashes her lights and unlocks the passenger door. Gendry shoves his hands in his pockets before walking towards the car in long strides.

When he opens the door and slides inside, he automatically checks the backseats.

"What are you doing?" Arya asks.

"Just making sure you didn't decide to take that beast along for our joy ride."

"She's not a beast."

"She weighs more than I do."

"That's not true. You're much fatter than she is."  _Okay, calling Gendry fat is an outright lie, but who cares?_ Gendry has been in the car for about ten seconds, and they're already bickering. She can't believe they only met yesterday. "Nymeria's only intimidating because you let her intimidate you. She can sniff out easy prey."

Gendry's eyes are illuminated in the dim light of the car, and his lips are curled into that tight smirk. "Whatever you say, Arya. That dog is enormous, and I'm man enough to admit I don't want to be on her bad side."

"Where am I going?" Arya asks, changing the subject and pulling her car into reverse.

"Head towards the highway. I'll show you."

Last night Gendry said he wanted to see Arya drive before he took her to any races, and she had to agree it was a fair offer. Hopefully tonight will prove to Gendry that Arya isn't some silly fool who just likes to watch shirtless men drive cars in  _Fast and Furious._

They drive in silence with the exception of Gendry telling her to turn right and left. She can feel him staring at her, but she keeps her eyes trained on the road, one hand on the wheel, and one on the gearshift. The further they drive, the emptier the roads become. After half an hour- there's not another car in sight, and the street is surrounded by dry, packed dirt.

"Are you sure it's all right to race here?" Arya asks.

"No one actually races here. Not in tournaments. The stretches aren't wide or long enough for more than one or two cars. But it's good for practice."

Arya flexes her hand before returning it to the wheel. She looks to Gendry for the first time since he got into the car. His blue eyes quickly flash to meet her own. Her car suddenly feels very small. "So what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to show off." His voice is low and steady. "Show me that you're confident. Show me speed. Agility." Arya finds herself watching Gendry's full lips as he speaks, mesmerized by every word. "Show me that you know exactly what you're doing. Instinct. Precision."

When he finishes, Arya clears her throat and looks away. She can feel that her face is slightly flushed, a reaction that doesn't happen often. "I can do that."

Gendry nods and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and Arya's eyes flicker over the taut muscles. This time when he speaks, he's staring straight ahead. "Then do it."

Arya is more than distracted by Gendry's presence, by his... _affect_ on her. A stupid, bullheaded idiot shouldn't be allowed to get under her skin. But as soon as Arya pulls the car into drive, all thoughts of Gendry drop away. There's nothing but her, the open stretch of road, and an engine whirring beneath her. She accelerates quickly, nearing a hundred-ten miles an hour in just a few seconds. The wind whips through her open windows, tousling her short hair. She goes faster and faster. But she knows it won't be enough to impress Gendry. Anyone can put their foot down on a pedal. If she wants Gendry's help, she'll need more than just pure speed.

There's a curve coming up in the road, about twenty feet off. She could take it sharp and fast. But that would still be too easy. Predictable. Arya  _hates_  being predictable. So instead of preparing to go around the corner, Arya shoots straight towards it, decelerating at just the last minute so that she can flip the car around, spinning it once and a half, tires burning hot rubber, as she speeds back the same way she came. The whole thing takes a few seconds and has Gendry gripping his seat with white knuckles and shouting "Oi! Easy there."

Arya smirks as she pitches the car halfway down the road and spins it again. She then zigzags down the rest of the stretch with precise jerks and switches. By the time she pulls the car to a stop at the end of the road, she's smiling broadly. She can see burnt tire tracks in the rear-view mirror.

Gendry turns to her, his blue eyes wide and animate. Arya angles herself towards him, a smug smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect that," he says.

"Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Yes."

"Well at least you aren't a liar."

"And neither are you apparently." He shakes his head slowly, dark shaggy hair falling over his forehead. "I've driven this stretch a hundred times. I never once thought to pull a turn that close to the edge."

"You race?"

"No. Not really." Gendry smiles. "But what's the point of building the car if you can't take it for a spin?"

"I guess that's true." Arya takes her hands off the wheel, stripping off her driving gloves. They're starting to wear through from years of use. She chews on her lip for a minute before asking, "So you'll help me then?"

"You're going to race whether I help you or not."

"That's true."

"And you're bound to do something stupid if I don't help you." Arya wants to retort, but she's smart enough to keep her mouth shut. "And you seem to know what you're doing."

"That's  _very_ true."

Gendry sighs before leaning over in his seat so that his head is only inches away from Arya's. The nearness unsettles Arya, and she can feel her skin tingling. She's tempted to back away, but she doesn't want to seem weak, or worse, foolish. "So," she says, her voice coming out softer than usual. "Is that a yes?"

Slowly, very slowly, Gendry starts to smile. Eventually it reaches up all the way into his dark blue eyes. "Yes, Arya Stark. I'll help you."

It's the best thing she's heard for months.

* * *

_The wind whips through Arya's hair as she races down the road in an open-top, black convertible. The speedometer is rising and rising as she breaks one-fifty, and then two-hundred, and then the needle breaks and falls down. Beside the car, Nymeria is lunging forward down the road, strong muscled legs keeping up with Arya's pace. Wind rushes through her thick fur, and as her paws lift off the road, she appears to be flying. "Faster," Arya says. "Faster and faster."_

_A light flashes in her rear-view mirror, and Arya's eyes flick behind her. There's a car coming straight towards her, moving incredibly fast. Arya presses her foot on the gas, but her car won't speed up. If anything, it's starting to slow down, and the other car is closing in on her. Nymeria starts whining and howling and Arya watches as the shaggy dog disappears from the road and starts sprinting towards a thick forest. "No!" Arya shouts. "Don't leave me!" But her words disappear with the wind._

_The car is close now. Too close. In her mirrors, Arya can see the reflection of a man. His face is blurred, but she spots thick blonde hair and a mocking smile. "No, no," Arya says, panicking. She keeps trying to accelerate, but her engine is stuttering beneath her, and eventually her entire car rumbles to a stop. Arya's heart is racing. Her palms are sweaty. "He's coming for me," she thinks._

_But when she whips her head around and looks behind her- there's no car there. There's nothing but the still, black night._

Arya wakes up to Nymeria licking the cold sweat off of her face. She doesn't have the energy to push her dog away. Instead she lies still and lets her racing heart slowly calm down. She's had dreams like these before. They're almost always the same. Some man with blonde hair is chasing her down long, empty roads. Nymeria disappears from her side. Her car fails.

She's been having these dreams for a year now. They started right around the time her father was fired from his job, so she just attributed them to stress and ignored them. But the dreams are strange and unsettling, and it always takes Arya days to shake the odd feeling.

When she lived at home, she would always tell Bran what she dreamt about. And he would look at her with his big, brown eyes and tell her that everyone dreams, but the dreams aren't real. Bran was always a calming presence in her very hectic childhood. Even though he's the second youngest, he always seemed to be the most mature. While Arya and Rickon were busy throwing peas in Sansa's auburn hair, and Jon and Robb were busy sneaking out of the house to meet up with girls, Bran would be there to ground them all in place.

Thinking about Bran makes Arya a little bit homesick. As much as her family annoys her, she still loves them more than anything in the world. She just wishes she could be honest with them. Lying to her sweet, little brother was one of the hardest things she's ever done.

Sighing, Arya rolls over in bed and nestles into Nymeria's soft coat. She scratches her behind the ear, her favorite spot, and Nymeria responds happily by nuzzling closer. "You miss them too, don't you?" Arya asks. Nymeria had to leave her siblings behind also- Summer and Shaggydog. "Why don't we give them a call?"

Arya reaches for her cell phone and quickly dials Bran's cell phone. After a few rings it rolls straight to his voicemail. Arya assumes he must be at work. During the summers, he works at a day camp as an outdoor adventure counselor. She decides to leave a short message, "Hey, Bran, it's me. Sorry I haven't called yet." She pauses. "College has been crazy. I miss you, though. Give me a call when you have a chance."

She closes the phone and is about to call Rickon when her cell starts ringing loudly. The name  **Gendry Waters** flashes across the green screen. After last night, they exchanged numbers so that he could contact her about a race. Seeing his name flashing across her phone makes Arya's pulse race, and she chews the edge of her thumb before answering.

"Hello?" She asks when she finally picks up the call. Arya can hear Gendry breathing on the other end. She wonders what he's doing. Where he is. If he's at the shop or at home. If he's dressed or-

"Arya?" Gendry asks, cutting off her train of thought.

"Yeah, stupid. Who else would it be?"

She can hear him laughing softly into the phone. "You just get nicer and nicer every day."

"And you get dumber and fatter."

"That's not true."

"So why are you calling?" Arya's stomach twists anxiously. Hopefully his call means good news.

"There's a race." Gendry pauses. "Tonight."

"Great. What time should I pick you up?"

"Actually, I'll be picking you up."

"Yeah, and why's that?" Arya likes driving. Whenever she gets in the car with someone else, she always gets the urge to shove them aside and grab the wheel for herself. Most people don't know a gearshift from an emergency break.

"The guys on the circuit know my car. Whenever a new cars show up, people talk. We don't want people to talk."

"Really?" Racing in Montana was always pretty relaxed. Arya knew it would be different in San Diego, but she didn't know it would be so extreme.

"Really. So I'll pick you up at eleven tonight. What's your address?"

"I'm living in Motel 8 right now- you know the one right off of Cajon Boulevard by the-"

"Got it. See you then." Gendry clicks off before Arya has a chance to finish talking. She stares at her phone for a second before throwing it to the side of her bed.

Her pulse is racing. Her palms are sweaty. Just like in her dream.

Except this time she isn't scared. No. She's excited.

She's going to a race tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everybody! Follow me on Twitter @LJSilverman


	4. Chapter 4

Arya is sitting on her bed when car lights shine through her curtains. Gendry. She stands up and glances at Nymeria. The large dog is snoring softly, so Arya decides to let her stay at home. Besides, Gendry would kill her if Arya brought Nymeria to the race. Nymeria is the opposite of discreet.

Arya grabs her purse and slips out of the motel room. There's a car idling in the parking lot, and Arya can see Gendry staring at her through his dark windows. The car is decent at best. It's a black Honda Civic that looks like it's at least five years old. Ancient as far as racing standards go. Arya opens the passenger door and slips inside. "Couldn't afford something nicer?" She asks.

Gendry glares at her. "Nothing like starting the night with an insult." He leans forward. "And why don't you try checking under the hood before opening your mouth? I like powerful cars, not flashy ones. A nice paint job won't win a race."

Arya bites her lip but keeps her mouth shut. It seems like whenever she insults Gendry, he just gives it right back to her. Most people are so offended by Arya's short temper that they ignore her and walk away, but Gendry always holds his ground. Arya doesn't know if she respects or hates him for it.

"There's going to be a big crowd tonight," Gendry says. He pulls the car into drive and maneuvers out of the motel parking lot. He drives with one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting on the edge of the open window. Arya's eyes sweep over his profile as he speaks. His blue eyes are calm, but his jaw is clenched tight. He's nervous, but he doesn't want me to know it. "I thought it'd be best to take you to a big race first. That way no one will be paying attention to you. We can just slip into the crowd and observe. It's best to stay under the radar tonight. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Maybe."

"Always honest, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

Gendry smirks but doesn't respond.

Arya wonders if Jon will be at the race tonight. Probably. Why wouldn't he be there? She would love to see him in a race. It's been too many years since she's seen him speeding down the road, other cars trailing far behind him. He used to race Robb down empty lanes late into the night. Arya and Sansa would sit at the finish line cheering their brothers on. Jon always won, but Robb didn't seem to mind.

The thought of seeing Jon makes Arya's stomach twist in anticipation. Should she go up to him? No. Of course not. But what if he sees her? Should she run away or would that just bring more attention? And what will Gendry say if he finds out Arya's brother is Jon Snow. The only reason Arya told Gendry her last name in the first place is because Jon uses 'Snow' as his racing name instead of Stark.

Gendry and Arya drive for half an hour in silence. The roads morph from busy highways to long, empty stretches of road. Night closes in around them as the lights of the city disappear. It's silent. Calm.

But then lights appear on the horizon, headlights piercing the darkness. Gendry's jaw stiffens as they approach. He removes his hand from the window so that he can clench both hands to the steering wheel. Arya leans towards him and whispers, "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he responds shortly.

"Well you don't look all right."

"I'm fine."

"Okay, but I'm just saying-"

"Arya. Just please stop talking." Gendry glances at her, flashing his dark blue eyes in her direction. His direct look stills the words in her throat. Calm the fuck down, Arya thinks, wondering what exactly has Gendry so tensed up.

As they drive further down the road, the pinpricks of light become larger and larger. Arya can't help but say, "wow," as they pull up to the gravel lot. There's a large man at the edge of the parking lot. He's holding a clipboard in his hands. Gendry nods at the man, and the man nods back and waves them through.

The lot has at least a hundred cars in it. Maybe two hundred. It's hard to tell with all the people walking around, sitting on hoods, and setting up chairs. Arya notices that almost all of the women are scantily clad, wearing small denim shorts and revealing cut-off tops. Arya looks down at her black skinny jeans and old, cotton tank, and she wonders if simply her wardrobe will make her stand out in the crowd.

Gendry notices her stares. "You wouldn't want to dress like that. Women dress like that to attract attention." He shoots a dark glare at Arya. "And it's usually not good attention." Arya suspects that Gendry meant the advice to be comforting, but it has the opposite effect.

"What time do the races usually start?" Arya asks as Gendry pulls into a vacant spot.

"Just after midnight." Gendry turns off the car. He takes a short breath and licks his lips. Arya's eyes are drawn to the soft-looking skin. She blushes when Gendry turns to her. "Come on," he says. "Let's walk down to the stretch. You're so short, you'll need a good spot if you want to see anything but the backs of heads."

They get out of the car and start walking with the crowd of people. Everyone looks at least a few years older than Arya, and she starts to stay unconsciously close to Gendry's side, liking the feeling of him towering over her as they walk. Ever since she was a young girl, Arya has taken care of herself. She prides herself on her independence. But something about Gendry's presence is extremely calming, especially in a crowd of strangers. She feels in control with him next to her. Which is stupid, she thinks, I've only known this guy for a couple of days. Who says I can trust him at all?

"This way," Gendry says, touching Arya's shoulder for just a second to guide her to the left. She bites his lip as his hand brushes against her bare skin. Very stupid.

The crowd thickens, and Arya has to separate some from Gendry as she weaves through the throngs of people. To her relief, no one pays attention to her. And why would they? She just looks like a scrawny little girl to them. She's a ghost, she's no one, until she gets behind the wheel of a car.

They make their way to the side of the street. Arya pokes her head between two men standing in front of her, and she can see cars idling far down the road. Gendry, standing behind her, whistles softly. "Man. Five at a time tonight. This won't end well."

Arya turns around. Since they're standing so close together, she has to crane her neck up to look Gendry in the eye. "What do you mean, five at a time?"

"Usually they only race three, maybe four on this road. It's pretty narrow. Hard to fit more than four cars side by side. I'd put money down on at least one crash tonight. Hell, probably more than one."

Arya has been in a lot of races, but she hasn't experienced many crashes. And the crashes were always caused by a blown engine or a ripped tire. Crashes never occurred because people decided to race on a road that was too skinny. "Well that's dumb, isn't it?" Arya says sharply.

"It's probably Joff's doing. He likes the danger."

"Joff?" The familiar name tastes like venom in Arya's mouth. "Joffrey Baratheon?"

Gendry raises an eyebrow. "How do you know him? I thought you were new here."

"I am." Gendry keeps staring at her. There's no way he's going to leave it at that, not if he's as stubborn as Arya herself. So finally Arya adds, "He's engaged to my sister." And then before Gendry has a chance to respond, she slips between the two people standing in front of her so that she's out of Gendry's reach and standing right on the road for the race. Gendry's tall enough. He won't lose me, she thinks. And it's best to not let him ask too many questions.

Joffrey Baratheon. The name turns bile in Arya's stomach. Joffrey is the son of Robert Baratheon, her father's old boss. A few years ago her father, vice president of Robert's company, was fired without reason. Her father suspected that Robert's wife had something to do with it, but with no evidence, he had to choose between quitting the company or dealing with a lawsuit. At the time, Sansa was interning for the company, and she was head over heels in love with Joffrey. The same day her father was fired, Joffrey asked Sansa to marry him. And Sansa said yes.

There's a reason Arya doesn't talk to her sister anymore. How could Sansa marry Joffrey knowing what his family did to her father? It doesn't make sense. It's horrible. Arya wishes her parents had dragged Sansa home the minute she put that ring on her finger, but instead they told her she was an adult and she could make her own choices.

The Baratheon's own a multi-billion dollar corporation involved luxury car production, and they heavily invest in NASCAR, but Joffrey enjoys betting on illegal races on the side. Not that Joffrey races himself. He's too pathetic for that. Instead, he pays someone to race for him.

Arya chews her lip, wondering for the first time if Sansa will be at the race tonight. It hadn't occurred to her. Sansa never like racing. She said it was stupid, dirty, and dangerous. Sure, she would watch Jon and Robb race, and she would laugh and cheer, but afterwards should would always say how boring and droll the whole sport was.

A loud buzzer blows, and suddenly Arya is pulled out of her thoughts. She focuses on the street before her. Five cars are racing quickly down the road, side by side with only an inch between each one. If one of them swerves, just a tiny bit, they'll all crash into each other. As the cars zoom by her with a burst of harsh wind, Arya thinks she recognizes Jon. Not that she had time to see his face, but she recognizes his driving style, hanging back just a bit, waiting to speed forward at the end and catch the others racers by surprise. She wonders how many races that tactic has won him over the years.

Arya used to try Jon's tactic, but it always made her too anxious. What if she didn't get the chance to cut in front of a car? What if she waited too long to speed up? Arya would rather start in the lead and end in the lead.

After the cars zoom past her, Arya steps out into the road. She watches them trail quickly down the street, smoke billowing down the road behind them. She keeps watching until they disappear into the horizon.

Arya weaves back between the crowd, back to Gendry's side. His dark eyes are trained on her, not the road. "You shouldn't run off like that," he says, his voice cut and low. "I can't protect you if you disappear."

"I didn't disappear. And I don't need you to protect me." Arya crosses her arms. "I've been perfectly safe."

"So far," Gendry says.

Arya rolls her eyes. "So where are they racing to?" Arya asks. Each circuit has a different layout for their race.

"They'll lap around Cross Boulevard before circling back the way they came. The finish line is the starting line." He glances down at his watch. "They'll be back in about five minutes, assuming they don't all crash before then."

"I want to get closer."

"We're close enough."

"No. I want to get closer to the finish line."

Gendry looks at her with that stubborn, bull headed glare. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What's the point of taking me to a race if I can't actually see the race? Come on." She grabs Gendry's wrist and tries to tug him forward. He doesn't budge. She tugs harder. "Why are you so big?" Arya grunts, tugging harder. "Come on. I'm going with our without you."

"That's a shock." Gendry quickly scans the crowd before looking back down at Arya. "Fine, but if I say it's time to leave, we leave. All right?"

"All right." Arya agrees impatiently. At least she mostly won the argument.

They start to weave through the crowds. Arya is leading, and she quickly ducks between people, slides between tiny gaps.

"Slow down," Gendry says, his large bulk making it a lot harder to get past people. Arya ignores him, knowing he'll catch up eventually. She wants to see the finish of the race, and she isn't going to let some stubborn fool hold her up.

On the side of the road, there's a tent set up parallel to the finish line. When Arya sees it, she stops short, causing Gendry to crash into her. She almost falls the ground, but he grabs her by the shoulders, steadying her with warm, calloused hands. "Sorry," she mutters, face flushed.

"Why'd you stop?"

Arya swallows dryly. She's staring at the tent, where seated in the pavilion is a beautiful young woman with bright auburn hair. Joffrey is standing over her, a hand clutched tightly on her shoulder as he shouts at the empty road. "Hurry up then, you stupid fucking dog!" His screams pierce through the noisy crowd.

Gendry steps forward to stand next to Arya. "Is that your sister then? The red-headed one?"

"You mean the pretty one?" When Sansa and Arya were children, everyone would always fawn over Sansa's porcelain skin, over her wide, beautiful eyes. And then they would turn to Arya and say that sometimes it takes awhile to grow into your looks.

"I've met her before," Gendry says. "Not properly though."

"Yeah." Arya feels defensive for some reason. Sansa and Gendry are two very opposite things in her mind. She doesn't like the idea of them interacting. "I bet she didn't have much to say to a dumb mechanic." The insult comes out quickly, unthinkingly.

"No. She didn't."

Arya pauses, trying to think of something less rude to say. "So you know Joff then?"

"I've done a lot of work for his dog's car." Gendry looks down at Arya and smirks. "He pays me even more than you do."

"His dog?"

"His racer. It's just something people call him. He's feral and wild and mean. He races and Joff pays." Gendry shakes his head slowly. "He's a hell of contender to drive against. Doesn't give a shit if he gets hurt. Those are always the dangerous ones. If they don't care about themselves, than they sure as hell don't care about you."

"I'll keep that in mind." Arya's words are cut off as the roar of engines emerge from the silent night. She steps forward, minding to keep out of sight of the spectators in the tent. Gendry follows her lead, and they watch side by side as the cars race back down the road. There are only three in sight, and Arya is relieved to see that Jon's car is one of them.

"The other two must have crashed," Gendry says softly.

"Guess so."

It's a close race with Jon's car and a dark black model that Arya doesn't recognize tied for first. "That's Joff's guy. His car is custom built through and through. I did a lot of the engine work myself."

"I can't believe you work for them," Arya mutters.

"Why? What do you have against them? Not that I'm a big fan myself, but the money is good, and I take what I can get."

Arya ignores Gendry as the cars approach the finish line. She bites her lip. Even though Jon was so cold with her earlier in the week, she still hopes that he wins the race.

And he does. By just an inch. But he wins.

The crowd bursts into shouts, some angry, some happy. Some people are slipping quickly away and others are rushing towards the cars that just finished the race. Arya hesitates, considering going up to Jon and congratulating him. They'll meet on the street eventually, and she hates being separated from him again after so many years passing.

But the street is thick with people, and she decides against it.

Suddenly the crowd parts, and there's a wave a silence. Joffrey is striding towards the street as his driver emerges from his car. Arya can hear Joffrey's screams slicing through the air. "What the fuck kind of driving was that? I don't pay you to lose you stupid piece of-" Arya wonders how Joffrey gets away with yelling at a broad, scarred man that must be at least fifteen years older than him.

She steps forward, just a bit, so that she can hear better. From the corner of her eye, she spots Sansa. Her sister is sitting head down, hands clasped tightly. "We should go," Gendry says, placing a hand on Arya's shoulder. "It's not smart to hang around when Joffrey loses."

"Yeah. Okay," Arya responds. As she turns around, Sansa's eyes flash to hers, just for a second, but she knows there's recognition. Sansa furrows her brow, her eyes filled with confusion.

She starts to stand up, but Arya weaves through the crowds and disappears.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa POV. 1 Year Ago.

Midday light streams through the windows of Joffrey's office. His office is on the twentieth story of the building, providing a breathtaking view of San Diego. Sansa stands at the window, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her fingernails digging tightly into her small waist. It's a beautiful day, yet everything in her life seems to be crumbling to pieces.

"Marry me," Joffrey repeats. Sansa slowly turns around to face Joffrey. He's staring at her; his normally playful eyes are cold and calculating. There's a golden ring sitting in his open palm, a large, pure diamond set in the center. It's beautiful. Stunning.

She wants to throw it in his face.

"Marry you?" She says, her voice high and tight. "You fired my father today, and now you're asking me to marry you? What do you expect me to say, Joffrey? I loved you, I love you, but how am I supposed to marry you now? How am I supposed to keep on loving you knowing what you did?"

Joffrey narrows his eyes. "I didn't fire your father. He quit. And I don't see what one thing has to do with the other."

"How do you not see it?" Sansa digs her fingers deeper into her waist. "My family is everything to me. You know that. I don't want to marry you. Not after what you did to my father."

"You will marry me, and you will do it happily." Joffrey takes a step forward, and Sansa finds herself instinctively backing up against the window. There's a fury in his eyes. A fury she's only seen a few times in the past year. A fury that makes her stomach tighten with nerves and her face pale with fear.

But she won't let fear win.

"No. I won't marry you."

Joffrey shakes his head slowly as he continues to approach. "You stupid, ungrateful bitch." The words slice through Sansa, and her bottom lip starts to tremble. "You marry me, or I will sue your father for every penny he's worth. And then I'll throw him in jail. You marry me or your precious daddy will rot away in a cell while you turn old and gray."

Tears start welling in Sansa's eyes, and she furtively wipes them away, smudging her eyeliner and mascara. She tries to keep her voice steady when she speaks. "Why are you being so mean, Joff? He hasn't done anything wrong. I haven't done anything wrong. You can't put him in jail. Please don't. Please."

"Maybe I can't put him in jail, but my lawyers sure as hell can. Now say yes, and get the hell out of here."

"Why would you want to marry a woman who doesn't want you?"

Joffrey sighs and rubs his face. "I forgot how stupid you could be. My darling, fragile, innocent Sansa. How can I explain this to you?" Joffrey pauses. "Let's see. Despite your father's rather sudden absence, the Stark name is still a powerful name in the industry. Let's just say a lot of our clients will be upset when they hear about Eddard leaving the company, and I'll be thrilled to tell them that his beautiful daughter Sansa is still with us. It'll put their stupid little minds at ease to hear that the Starks and Baratheons are still united as one."

"That's awful."

"That's business."

Joffrey takes a final step forward so that he is only an inch away from Sansa. He grabs one of her hands and pries open the clenched fingers. Sansa bites her lip sharply and looks away as Joffrey slides the diamond ring onto her finger. He's won, Sansa thinks, he knows I'd do anything to help my father. Joffrey looks up, his eyes flickering with pleasure, with success."Now take the ring and get out. I'll see you at eight for dinner. They'll be some prospective clients there, so be sure to wear something tight, and make sure your face isn't all red and blotchy."

"All right," Sansa says. She takes a step forward, but as she passes Joffrey, he grabs her tightly by the wrist, jerks her forward, and plants a cold kiss on her ivory cheek.

Current Time

The night after the race, Arya runs through Sansa's dreams, speeding down the roads into pitch-black horizons. Sansa calls out for her sister, but Arya never hears her, never stops racing forward. When Sansa wakes up, pale light is shining through the curtains. Her heart is racing wildly and her skin is pale and moist. "Arya," she whispers in the empty room. But no one answers.

She saw her last night. She knows she did. It was just for a second, but she could spot those trained cat-like eyes in the largest of crowds. But then Arya was darting through the masses of people, disappearing into the throng. I have to find her, Sansa thinks. I can't let this silence continue.

She hasn't seen her little sister for over a year now, not since Joffrey proposed. When Sansa told her parents she was going to marry Joffrey, they told her she was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. But the engagement hung heavy in her heart, and she hasn't returned home for a year. She can't face her family. Not like this. Too many lies are piled up on top of each other, and one wrong word to her mother could have them all tumbling to the ground.

At first, Sansa tried calling Arya, texting her, even sending her the occasional email. But there was never a response.

And who could blame her stubborn little sister? Arya has every right to be mad. If it were the other way around, if Sansa thought Arya was marrying was Joffrey without any logical explanation, she would be just as angry. She would scream at her sister, call her stupid and selfish, and turn her back with simmering anger.

And that's why I have to explain to Arya what Joffrey is making me do. Our parents can never find out. Father would make me come home immediately. He wouldn't understand that it's a sacrifice for the whole family, not just for him. But Arya, I can tell Arya. And she will keep my secret, and we will be sisters again.

Sansa sighs and climbs out of bed. It's still early. She was never one to sleep in. The birds rise at dawn, and so does she.

Her computer is sitting, humming softly on her desk. Sansa sits down, drumming her fingers on the table. Now how do I find that little weasel...

After a few moments of thought, Sansa pulls up the website of her bank and types in Arya's email address for the username. The password is easy: CERSJAR. Arya and Sansa have been using the same password since they were little girls. It's the first initials of every member in their family. It's probably a dumb password- their accounts would be easy to hack into, but if Arya is like Sansa in any way, than she's never gotten around the changing it.

Sansa is rewarded when the password is accepted and the website moves through to the next page. She clicks on recent transactions and smiles when she sees a $42 charge under Super 8 Motel off of El Cajon Boulevard. Sansa knows the place well. She drives past it every day on the way to work. And today I'll make a special pit stop.

It only takes a few minutes of flirting to charm the man at the front desk into giving away Arya's room number. Room 26. Sansa circles the building until she finds the right room. The shades are pulled close, but Sansa recognizes Arya's car parked out front. She approaches the motel door and takes a small breath before rapping loudly, three times. After a few moments, the shade flickers, and the side of Arya's face appears and disappears within a second.

"Go away," Arya shouts from behind the thick door.

"No." Sansa expected nothing less than a stubborn, pigheaded greeting.

"Go. Away."

"No."

"You can't stand there all day."

"Want to bet? I know Nymeria's in there. I heard her barking, so you might as well stop trying to muffle her. She'll have to come out and use the bathroom sometime. And you'll have to eat. So I'm not leaving until you open the door."

A minute passes. Silence. Another minute.

And then the door opens, and Arya is standing there. Arya- her sister who she hasn't seen for an entire year. And Sansa is shocked.

She only got a quick glimpse of Arya last night, so she didn't have time to notice how much her little sister had changed. Arya is at least a few inches taller than last year, and her curves have filled out. Her face has lost all of its baby fat, and she's, well- stunning. The scrawny, oily haired girl has disappeared and turned into a beautiful woman.

"You're stupid," Arya says.

At least she hasn't changed completely.

"I know," Sansa responds. "Now can I come in?"

"I don't know." Arya looks down at Nymeria and asks her dog, "Do you think we should let Sansa in?"

In response, Nymeria treads forward and starts licking Sansa's hand, rubbing her head against Sansa's stomach. "Nymeria says yes," Sansa says, trying not to sound too smug.

Arya rolls her eyes. "Traitor," she tells Nymeria. She opens the door a bit wider. "All right then. Come in."

The motel is dimly lit and empty. Arya's suitcase sits on the floor, a mess of tangled clothes inside. "You haven't been here long," Sansa says.

"Just a couple of days." Arya heads back to her bed and sits cross-legged on the mattress. Sansa was always jealous of Arya's skinny legs. Her sister could eat every last drop of food in the house, and she never gained a pound. Sansa had to work hard to keep her trim figure. "How did you find me?"

Sansa shrugs her shoulders. "Looked at your bank records."

"Smart. I should probably change my password."

"Probably." Sansa clasps her fingers together, nervously playing with Joffrey's ring. "You never returned my calls."

As Arya glances at the ring, her face hardens. "So?"

"So you're my sister. And I've missed you."

"You never seemed to like me much in the first place."

"That's not true, and you know it."

"You're a traitor." The words are sharp and slicing.

Sansa shakes her head, trying to stay calm. She's always been the emotional one in the family, but she can't help it. To her, feelings are as alive and real as any tangible thing. And harsh words cut like steel. Her throat feels thick, choked. "You don't know what you're talking about, Arya. You don't-" she takes a breath. "You don't know what I've sacrificed for our family."

"You're a liar. You've sacrificed nothing. You've been playing pretty princess with Joffrey fucking Baratheon while our father-"

Sansa's temper suddenly snaps. She came here on a mission, and she isn't going to let her little sister bully her out of it. "I said you don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you try shutting up for two seconds, just two seconds, and let me explain. Do you think you can do that Arya? Don't you owe me at least that much?

Arya looks up. Her eyes filled with cold, empty. "I don't owe you anything."

Sansa has to collect herself before speaking again. She has to tell herself that Arya doesn't mean the cruel words falling from her lips, that she's saying them out of anger, out of spite and ignorance. Finally Sansa says, "Please. Just let me explain what happened. And if after that you're still angry, I'll leave and never bother you again. All right?"

Arya looks to Nymeria before answering. The large beast is lying on the floor, head resting on her paws, staring at Arya with trained, sharp eyes. "All right."

"You look nice," Joffrey says as he pulls out a chair for Sansa. She's late, but hopefully her dress makes up for it. Tightly fitted with long sheer sleeves. After explaining everything to Arya, they spent the whole day catching up with each other. It wasn't until seven that Sansa looked at the clock and realized she was supposed to be at dinner.

"Thank you." Sansa looks around the restaurant table. Joffrey's mother is there, along with his uncle, and his racer Sandor. The older, scarred man is staring off into the distance, completely uninterested in the people around him. Sansa finds herself glimpsing at Sandor all too often. Something about the harsh man makes her skin tingle, with excitement, and more so with fear.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Joffrey asks the table.

"Stunning," Cersei responds. "A true rose."

"I can only hope to age as well as you," Sansa responds. "I swear you don't look a day older than thirty."

"You're sweet." Cersei smiles. "But a liar."

"I am no such thing. You're as beautiful as the day I met you, and I was only a young girl then."

"You're still a young girl," Cersei responds.

"Shall we order then?" Jaime asks. "I'm starved."

"You're always starved," Joffrey says. "Good thing you make so much money or I'd fire you for eating through our profits."

The empty threat hangs heavy in the air. Even though Jaime is twice Joffrey's age and his uncle, Joffrey could still fire him without a moment's notice. Joffrey has too much power for a man that still acts with the mentality of a boy. When he turned eighteen, his father Robert made him a partner in the company. To this day, prospective clients ask why a boy was made partner before he even graduated from college.

Sansa sips her water quietly, not wishing to involve herself if Jaime retorts with a snide remark. She sneaks a glance at Sandor who is still sitting silently, his twisted face trained on the white tablecloth. Sansa doesn't know why Joffrey insists on dragging his racer everywhere. She asked him once, and Joffrey said Sandor was his bodyguard. Sansa snorted and asked why on earth he would need a bodyguard.

After a year together, Sansa learned the answer to her question. Joffrey makes enemies all too easily. There are plenty of people out there who would want to hurt him, especially those on the racing circuit. Sansa remembers one night in particular when a disgruntled racer accused Joffrey of cheating, tried to attack him, and Sandor beat the man to a pulp with raw, bloody fists.

Sometimes she still dreams about that night. And many others like it, her stomach turning with distaste at the horridness of her fiancé.

And Sandor's constant presence makes Sansa uncomfortable. He's never said more than ten words to her, but sometimes she'll catch him staring, deep, black eyes looking straight through her. And sometimes, when Joffrey has had too many glasses of wine and gets a bit too rough, she'll notice Sandor standing silently by with clenched white knuckles and a tremor in his scarred cheek. If you don't like watching Joffrey be a tyrant, than do something about it, she once wanted to tell Sandor. Starring doesn't help anybody.

"Sansa. Are you listening to me?" Joffrey asks. Sansa's attention is jerked back to the present as Joffrey grabs her thigh, gripping it tightly.

"Sorry, dear. What is it?"

"Tell Jaime why my father is passing the presidency to me and not him." Robert has determined that he will resign in the coming year. I'm sick of the whole damn business, he yelled one night, his face red with wine. Jaime almost had a fit when Robert named Joffrey the heir. He's my son, Lannister, Robert said, you're a good brother-in-law, a good worker, but the company goes to my son. Jaime had laughed harshly and said, you're son Robert is only twenty-two and an utter fool.

"Go on then," Joffrey repeats, "Tell Jaime why I'm going to be the president."

"Because you're Robert's son," Sansa responds. "And you are smart. And cunning. And will do this company only good. Because the man I am marrying is a strong man, a great one." Joffrey beams at her when she finishes, his hand loosening it's grip as it slowly moves up her bare thigh towards the hem of her dress. Sansa wonders if her voice sounds empty to him. She wonders if he cares at all.


	6. Chapter 6

"So I've seen a race. Now how do I actually race in one?" Arya asks after taking a bite of her apple. She's sitting cross-legged on a workbench in Gendry's shop. Her eyes are trained on Gendry as he works on a broken HEMI engine. Gendry's back muscles strain under his tank, sweat glistening on his bare skin. She likes watching him work. There's an intensity to it. From his dark eyes to the tips of his greased fingers. Arya takes another bite of her apple

Gendry stands up straight and turns around to face Arya. She quickly averts her gaze. The more time she spends with Gendry, the more unsettled she feels around him. "I can't believe you still want to race. You saw what it's like out there. You saw how Joffrey can get. It's not safe, Arya."

"I'm not afraid of Joffrey." Arya bites her lip. That's not entirely true. She is afraid of Joffrey, but Sansa promised she would do everything possible to keep his temper under control if Arya started racing. Just make sure to race anonymously, Sansa had said, Joffrey has no clue that Jon is my brother. And he'd better not find out that you're my sister.

"That's a stupid thing to say. You should be afraid of him. If you're not afraid than you can't protect yourself."

"Fine. I'm a little worried about the little shit, but that's not going to stop me from racing. Now are you going to help me, or am I going to have to figure this out on my own?"

Gendry sighs. He places his wrench down on the hood of the car and wipes his hands on his dirty workpants. Arya chews her lip as Gendry walks forward and sits on the bench next to her. She curls up her legs and holds them to her stomach. "I'll help you." Gendry smiles softly and knocks Arya on the shoulder. "You know I'll help you."

"Glad to know you're good for something."

"One day, you're going to be nice to me, Arya Stark."

"I am nice to you."

"Well then I'd hate to see you mean." Gendry's blue eyes sparkle as he teases her, and Arya's face flushes. Stupid boys with their stupid good looks and their stupid everything. Arya knows she should keep away from Gendry. He's too much of a distraction. But there's no one else to help her, and as much as she hates to admit it, she enjoys his company too much to get rid of him. "So you want to know how to get into a race," Gendry says, finally getting to the point. "I guess there are a few ways."

"Go on, then. What are they?"

"One way is to get on Joffrey's good side. Talk him up. Flatter him. Whatever you have to do to make him like you. Or at least like you enough to take money from you."

Arya grimaces. "I don't see that happening. What else you got?"

"Money is always an easy in. If you have enough of it, you can bribe the guys on the circuit to get you into a race. You can also bet a high amount on yourself to up your odds and create some interest."

Arya chews her lip. "Money is getting tight."

"Really?" Gendry smirks. "Arya Stark is out of money?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have given it all to you."

"I didn't even charge you for helping you out at the races."

"But you did charge me twice over for the work on my car. Work I could have done myself."

Gendry smirks. "I doubt that. You might be a racer, and you might have a sharp mind for the machinery, but you don't have a mechanic's build." He grabs Arya's small hands, and she flinches in surprise at the sudden contact. She's not used to being touched. Especially by strange men with blue eyes. "Your hands are tiny. Look at them. I bet you couldn't even fit one around the width of a radial cog."

Having Gendry's hands on her own does strange things to Arya. Her face flushes as his calloused thumbs grip her soft skin. She can't look him in the eye. Feeling flustered, she quickly snatches her hands away. "Well then it's a good thing I don't have a broken radial cog, isn't it?"

"I guess it is." Gendry is smirking, but Arya doesn't know why. The mischievous grin makes her even more uncomfortable, so she decides to change the subject.

"So what's the third way? Besides sticking my nose up Joffrey's ass or throwing away money I don't have?"

"The third way is a bit trickier. Basically you just have to impress them. You know, make a name for yourself."

Arya crosses her arms. "How do I do that? I took you for a spin, but I don't think I could fit half the San Diego race circuit in my back seat."

"I guess you'll have to get creative."

"That's very helpful, Gendry. You're an absolute fucking genius."

"I love how you still manage to insult me while asking for my help."

"It's not my fault you're so stupid."

Gendry leans forward so that he's inches from Arya's face. He locks eyes with her, and she can't bring herself to turn away. "If I'm so stupid, then why do you keep coming back here? I fixed your car days ago. "

"Because," Arya says, flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"Because why?"

"Because I need help. But obviously I'm not going to get it from a giant, empty-headed idiot like you. So you know what? You're right. I don't know why I'm here. So thank you for all of your great advice and goodbye." Arya shoves Gendry hard in the shoulders so that he falls back onto the bench. And then she stands up and sprints out of the shop before he has a chance to respond.

He's stupid, she tells herself, stupid and mean, and I don't need him. I don't need anyone.

It was an easy guess that there'd be a race on Friday night. Arya parks her car far down the road and dims her headlights. She has to squint, but she can see people accumulating in the same spot as last time. She can see cars beginning to line up at the start line. There's an electricity in the air, and Arya flexes her hands in anticipation.

Nothing like crashing a race on a beautiful night to get the pulse racing.

She glances at the clock on her car: 11:55. The race will probably start at midnight. She hopes the drivers are as predictable as their round circuit.

On the inside, Arya's anxious, a bundle of nerves and an uneasy stomach. But on the outside, she's perfectly calm. She has one hand resting on the wheel and the other on her gearshift. Her racing gloves are soft and leather, worn through and through.

At 11:59, she turns her car back on, and the engine hums softly beneath her. She chews her lip slowly. This could work out well. Or it could go very, very wrong.

Arya rolls down her window and listens for it- the sound of the whistle. Sweat gathers underneath the brim of her hat, but she's too tense to wipe it away. And suddenly, the whistle sounds, piercing through the silent night. Down the road she sees the cars pitch forward as they start to race down the street.

Arya presses her foot to the pedal.

She accelerates quickly, hitting sixty, than a hundred, than a hundred and fifty. The crowd only has a second to see her speeding past the start line, but she knows they see her. And she wonders what they're thinking about the crazy girl crashing a closed raced.

There are only three other cars racing tonight, and Arya slowly relaxes and starts to grin as she approaches them from behind. They might have had a head start, but on the open road, she can push dangerous speeds without the fear of crashing. And she's catching up to them quickly.

The car in the back is the first to notice her. It separates from the pack, slowing down just enough so that Arya can sidle up beside it. The driver turns to face her, and Arya almost swerves off the road, startled by the man's grim, scarred face. Dark black eyes stare right through her, and Arya shifts her head, hoping her hat conceals most of her face. The man smirks, the line breaking like a crack against his burned face, and then he turns forward and speeds ahead, leaving a distracted Arya trailing in his dust.

Dumb, dumb, Arya tells herself. You should have sped ahead when he slowed down. She's rusty. She hasn't raced in a couple of months, and now she's up against racers that could drive laps around her old competitors in Montana. Get it together.

She re-grips the wheel, her fingers already sweaty inside her leather gloves, and she pushes the pedal down hard, rocketing forward, straight in line for the dog's bumper. At the last second, she swerves to the side so that she can pass him. He moves left, trying to inch her car off the road, but Arya has just enough speed to get away from him.

For a second, she wonders what Gendry did to her engine. It seems to be working better than ever. But she pushes the thought away. Gendry sends her mind spinning, and she really doesn't need another distraction right now.

With the scarred man trailing closely behind her, Arya turns her attention to the other two cars. They're neck and neck and edging dangerously close to the right side of the road. Back home racers pretty much leave each other alone. It's all about speed and precision. Apparently San Diego likes to play the game a little more dangerously.

As Arya gets closer, she can tell that one of the cars is Jon's. He's on the inner edge, closest to the center of the road. As Arya prepares to pass him, she lifts the brim of her hat, making sure that he can see her face clearly as she zooms by. It's a dirty trick, but she needs to win this race, and the easiest way to do that is to distract Jon. She feels bad for cheating him, but she has to win, and for Jon, it's just one race in hundreds.

And sure enough, as she passes, Jon turns to her. His face transforms: rigid mouth, and hard, angry eyes. He's furious.

Arya feels bad.

But when Jon falters in speed, she accelerates at full force and pushes past him, and she feels a lot better.

The circuit itself is easy. A long, stretched-out lap that rounds back to the finish line. Arya, having the advantage of surprising the shit out of her opponents, manages to surge ahead with relative ease. She won't actually win the race of course. No one is going to give money or credit to someone who crashes a race after it already started, but her little stunt will get her plenty of attention. And hopefully seeing her drive will convince the circuit to let her into a legitimate race.

That or they'll throw her out and threaten to kill her if she ever steps foot in San Diego again.

Arya glances in her mirror. The scarred man's car is now closest behind her, but there are still a few feet between them, and the finish line is looming closely. Arya bites her lip, trying to hold back a smile. She doesn't want to celebrate until the race is actually won.

And she wants to win in style.

She slams her foot down on the gas and accelerates to full speed. Her car shudders beneath her as it launches forward. She's nearing 200 mph as she passes the finish line. The second she crosses it, she quickly shifts gears, decelerates, and brings her car to a halting stop in just a few seconds. Burned tire marks smoke behind her, and the rest of the cars have to swerve to keep from hitting her.

She did it. She won.

But now comes the hard part.

Arya glances out her window, and a crowd of stunned spectators stare back at her. Some are angry, some are cheering, and some are just standing there with gaping mouths. Arya turns her attention to Sansa who is currently trying to pull Joffrey back by the arm. He's livid, red-faced and screaming. Arya cracks her window just an inch so she that can hear him. "Who the hell does this fucking street rat bitch thinks she is? She can't fucking crash a race and expect to get away with it! Where the hell is my dog? Sandor!"

Sansa tries to calm Joffrey down, but he shoves her aside, and she falls to the ground. Arya furrows her brow as her stomach boils with distaste. She can't wait to show Joffrey where he can shove it.

For a moment she considers driving away. Most of the crowd seems all right, but there are a few people, including Joffrey, who look like they're ready to rip Arya limb to limb. But driving away would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn't it? I wanted them to notice me, and notice me they did.

Slowly, Arya unlocks her car door and steps outside. She makes sure to pull the brim of her hat low over her face. Even though she's only met him a couple of times, she doesn't want Joffrey to recognize her. There's no way he'd ever allow Eddard Stark's daughter to race in his circuit. Especially not after everything Sansa told her earlier in the week.

As soon as she emerges from the car, she looks towards Jon. But he's keeping his face averted, sitting on the hood of his car with clenched fists. Good. Best to deal with him later.

"You!" Joffrey says. He's still standing at the sidelines. "Sandor. Grab her."

The dog is standing midway down the road, smack dab between Arya and Joffrey. Sandor is over six feet tall with broad shoulders and hard, black eyes. He doesn't look like someone Arya would want to mess with. He doesn't look like someone The Hulk would want to mess with.

Slowly, Sandor turns towards Joffrey. His voice is low, harsh and rasping. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. If you want the girl- get her yourself."

"Dog. I command you to-"

"I said no."

The entire crowd is silent as they watch the exchange with wide eyes. Joffrey is obviously confused, probably wondering why his employee is refusing him. "And why not?"

"She raced well. I won't harm her for racing well."

"She crashed the race."

"And won it."

"By cheating."

A horrible smile cracks against Sandor's scarred face. "We were the ones with the head start. If you want her, you can take her." Without saying anything else, Sandor walks back to his car, gets inside, and drives away.

"This- this is an outrage!" Joffrey exclaims. His face is quickly turning bright red. "Someone get that girl and-" Joffrey looks around weakly, realizing no one is going to help him. "Fine. I'll do it myself, you worthless fucking people," he finally spits out.

As Joffrey strides forward, Arya instinctively grabs her door handle. Joffrey's not a big man, but he's much bigger than her, and his eyes are filled with cold hate. His grin is wild, manic. "Come here. And take off that stupid hat, so I can see your ugly face."

Arya bites her lip, unsure of what to do next. She could jump in her car and drive away, or she could stand up to Joffrey and-

And what? Beat him up? Let him beat her up?

There doesn't seem to be a single way to get what she wants. She's pissed off Joffrey, and that's the end of it. Better to get away now before he figures out who she really is.

Just as Arya opens her car door, a man emerges from the crowd. "Enough!" He shouts. He's tall, broad, and handsome. His blue eyes meet Arya's, and unprecedented relief floods through her. Gendry. "I said enough," he repeats. "Leave the girl alone."


	7. Chapter 7

Just as Arya opens her car door, a man emerges from the crowd. "Enough!" He shouts. He's tall, broad, and handsome. His blue eyes meet Arya's, and unprecedented relief floods through her. Gendry. "I said enough," he repeats. "Leave the girl alone."

Gendry plants himself directly between Arya and Joffrey. Arya quickly steps to the side so that she can still see Joffrey glaring furiously at the pair of them.

"Gendry?" Joffrey asks. "What are you doing here? This isn't your business."

"It's my business if I say it is." Arya flashes a glance towards Gendry. His playful blue eyes are hard and steady. His fists are clenched tightly, and his jaw is rigid. He's protecting me, Arya says, and I don't know why, but I'm glad he's here.

Joffrey takes another step forward, but he doesn't look very menacing. Not when Gendry is almost half a foot taller than him. "Gendry- leave. Now. Leave before I make sure you never have another client from the circuit again. Leave before I make sure your tiny excuse for a mechanic's shop goes bankrupt within the month. You know I have the power to make your life crumble to ashes."

Gendry is silent for a moment, but when he speaks, his voice is even harsher than before, "Leave the girl alone."

Joffrey narrows his eyes. "You seem to have a very peculiar interest in this girl. Why do you care what happens to her?" Joffrey's gaze flickers towards Arya, and she furtively tugs down her cap, praying that he won't recognize her. "Is she a friend of yours? A lover, perhaps?"

The word lover makes a deep blush crawl up the back of Arya's neck. "Yes. I know her, but I don't see how our relationship concerns you."

"It concerns me because I want to FUCKING KNOW WHAT THIS BITCH IS DOING ON MY TRACK!" Joffrey's face is bright red. His scream echoes down the road, and the remaining crowd of people all seem to take a step back. Someone so tiny and pathetic shouldn't be allowed to bully so many people, Arya thinks.

"Why don't you try asking me nicely?" Gendry asks. He doesn't bother trying to hide the condescending tone of his voice. For someone who kept trying to warn Arya not to mess with Joffrey, Gendry doesn't seem to be the least bit scared of the little tyrant.

Joffrey takes a sharp breath, perhaps trying to control his rage. "What's her name?"

Arya stills her breath. What if Gendry tells him? He doesn't know the full story. He doesn't know what Joffrey would do if he found out Ned Stark's daughter was racing in San Diego. He doesn't know that Joffrey would immediately accuse Sansa of consorting with the enemy. He doesn't know...

Gendry turns to Arya, and she catches his deep blue eyes. His intense gaze makes her shiver, and she hopes that he can read her thoughts. Don't tell him my name, don't tell him my name, don't tell him my name. Arya repeats the silent chant over and over again. Something flickers in Gendry's gaze, and she prays that he understands.

"I'm waiting," Joffrey says. "It isn't a very hard question, even for a dumb fucking mechanic."

Actually, it's not just Joffrey that's waiting. The entire crowd is silent, and they are all staring at Gendry, waiting for an answer. Everyone wants to know who the mystery girl is, and Arya hopes that they'll never find out. She flashes a glance at Jon who is still sitting on the hood of his car. I wonder how he keeps getting away with it. Living a lie. I've been in San Diego less than a week, and my cover is already about to be blown.

Finally, Gendry turns back towards Joffrey. Arya's pulse starts racing, and her mouth is dry. Please don't tell him. Please don't. Gendry opens his mouth and says, "Her name's Cat."

"Cat?" Joffrey asks.

"Cat of El Cajon." Relief floods through Arya. Thank god Gendry isn't as stupid as he sometimes acts. And the name is oddly fitting. Her parents used to call her a little cat because she would sneak around the house day and night like a cat hunting for tiny mice.

At this point, the tense crowd seems to fill with excitement. A few people even step forward a snap a picture on their cell phone. They're probably sending the photo out to everyone on the circuit: New mystery racer. Cat of El Cajon.

Arya makes sure to keep her head tilted down and the hat pulled low. Joffrey seems to accept her name, but that doesn't mean she's out of trouble. It's time to defend herself instead of having Gendry speak for her. She takes a small step forward, and eyes down, says, "Joffrey, I'm sorry for crashing the race, but it was the only way to get your attention. I'd like the chance to race on your circuit. Legitimately."

"Why would I let you do that? You crash my race. Insult my drivers. Refuse to show your face. I see no reason to let you step foot on this circuit again, much less take part in a race."

Time to flatter the fool, Arya thinks. "Joffrey, this is the best circuit on the West Coast. You know that. Everyone knows that. You run a great operation here, one I've always admired. And I just want to be a part of this great thing you've created. Please. Let me race once, and if you don't like me, I'll leave and never come back."

"Well, you're right about that. This is the best circuit. And not just on the West Coast, but also in the whole country. But I still don't see what's in it for me. Why should I let you race?"

Arya smiles slowly. It must look strange to Joffrey, since he can only see her smile and not her shaded eyes. "Bet on me."

"I bet on my dog."

"Your dog just lost." Arya slips a scrap of paper out of the pocket of her tight black jeans. She balls it up and throws it to Joffrey. "If you want me to show up, have someone contact me. If not, it was nice meeting you Mr. Lannister."

"How do you know my name?"

"Everyone knows your name." With that, Arya turns around and walks back towards her car. As she touches the door handle, she looks up at Gendry. He's staring at her, expression unreadable. "Well are you coming or not?" Arya asks.

Gendry smiles and shakes his head. "I'm coming, little Cat. I'm coming."

The first few minutes of the drive are completely silent. She's done it. She's convinced Joffrey to give her a shot at racing. There's no way he'll reject her now- not after having that conversation in front of so many people. Allowing Cat of El Cajon to race will probably bring in a lot of spectators, which means a lot of money for the betting pools.

But even though Arya has escaped Joffrey's wrath, she still can't relax. She's tense. Her hands are tightly gripping the steering wheel. Because even though Gendry has been silent for these past few minutes, she's just waiting for him to explode. For him to scream. To yell. To lecture-

"What the hell were you thinking, Arya? You could have gotten yourself killed!" And here it goes. Arya glances at Gendry. His eyes are intense, filled with anger and emotion. The roads are blessedly empty, and Arya stares at them as Gendry continues to yell at her. For once in her life, she stays silent and doesn't argue. Let him say what he will, Arya thinks, he just saved my ass. He deserves to yell if he wants to. "You can't just crash a fucking race on Lannister's circuit. I'm surprised Joffrey didn't try to chop your head off. Or what if you had crashed? No one would have even known it was you out there. What if Sandor had listened to Joffrey and beaten the shit out of you? What if you were lying dead in a ditch right now?" Gendry is breathing heavily, and Arya can't help but notice his strong chest as he gathers his breath. She bites her lip and looks away.

"You're being very melodramatic," she says softly.

"You're being an idiot."

"Takes one to know one." Arya switches lanes, speeding back towards central city. "Why did you defend me if I was being so stupid?"

"I was trying to help you. You know, help keep you from getting killed."

"I was doing fine on my own. Besides, if things had gotten really bad, I'm sure Sansa would have helped." And put herself in danger at my expense.

"Maybe," Gendry says. "But you couldn't be sure of that. Joffrey is dangerous. He's a mean man, no, a mean boy with too much power."

"You really hate him."

"Not as much as some people, but yes, I do."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

Arya doesn't push the issue. She understands that people want their privacy. And Gendry deserves his just as much as she deserves hers. "So are we friends again?" She asks.

"I didn't realize we were friends in the first place."

"Shut up, stupid. Of course we were."

"You're the nicest friend I've ever had."

"Shut up."

"Very sweet and gentle-"

"Shut up!"

"And feminine of course-"

"I said shut it!" Arya swerves the car quickly and then brakes so fast that Gendry, unprepared, jerks forward and bumps his head on the dash.

"Oi! Seriously?" Gendry turns to Arya, blue eyes wild and furious. "If I keep hanging around you, I'm bound to get myself killed.

Arya shrugs her shoulders, but a smile tugs at her lips. "Not my problem."

"Good girl," Arya says as she scratches Nymeria behind the ear. Nymeria is wolfing down a gigantic bowl of food. Usually, Arya feeds her earlier in the night, but now it's almost two in the morning, and Nymeria is obviously starving.

"Good god. How much does that thing eat?" Gendry asks. He's lounging on Arya's bed, long, muscled arms tucked behind his head. His shirt is riding up, and Arya can see a spot of hard, tanned skin. She quickly looks back towards Nymeria. It seems like every other time she looks at Gendry, her logical mind goes out the window.

Arya was never boy crazy. That was always Sansa's job. Sure, she had a few guys she messed around with in high school, but she always got rid of them before it turned into something serious. She didn't like the idea of some stupid, inexperienced high school boy getting her naked. It was just never appealing.

But Gendry's no high school boy, and I'll bet anything that he's very experienced. After all, a grown man doesn't walk around with that body without having loose girls fling themselves at him.

Arya shakes her head, trying to get rid of these thoughts. Gendry is her mechanic and her friend. That's it. "That thing is my dog, and her name is Nymeria," Arya says. "And she gets to eat as much as she likes. She's a growing girl."

"If she grows anymore, she's going to be larger than Sandor."

"Good. Maybe she can rip him a few new scars."

"That's not very nice. Sandor stuck up for you tonight."

Arya turns around and walks towards the bed. She sits on the very edge of the mattress. "No. Sandor stuck up for himself. He was obviously sick of Joffrey bossing him around, so he just used me as an excuse to say 'fuck you' to his boss."

"Look, I'm not saying Sandor is a cute, fuzzy bunny, but no one knows much about the guy except that he's one devil of a racer. Leave Nymeria for Joffrey."

"Cute, fuzzy bunny?"

"Shut up."

Gendry sits up and scoots forward so that he's sitting right next to Arya. She's hyperaware of every move he makes. Of the warmth radiating from his body. "So do you think Joffrey will call?"

"I know he will."

"What makes you say that?"

"He can't live down a challenge. I've put my name out there, and everyone knows it. He has to put me in a race or people will call him a coward."

"He is a coward."

"He's worse than a coward. He's a power hungry fool." Arya sighs. "Let's stop talking about him. It's been a long day, and I don't need to end it with Joffrey on my mind." She rolls back her shoulders, and her back cracks. "Ugh. Too much driving lately."

"Here," Gendry says. He moves forward a bit more so that he can place his warm hands on her small shoulders. Arya's face flushes, and she wonders if Gendry can feel her racing heart. "Lean back a little," he says, his mouth close to her ear. Arya fights back a shiver, but she does as she's told and leans into Gendry's hard body.

"Where's it hurt?"

"Everywhere."

Slowly, Gendry makes his way down Arya's entire back. His large, strong hands massage her neck, rubbing circles just below her jaw. When he makes his way to her lower back, his thumbs press against bare skin, and Arya has to bite back a low moan. It feels unbelievably good to have his hands on her. She's too nervous to talk because she doesn't want him to stop. Ever.

Her entire body slowly relaxes, and she leans back even more so that she's cradled into Gendry's chest. His warm hands are now moving their way down her arms, working out every sore muscle. Arya's eyes start to flutter close, and in the dark, she imagines that Gendry's hands are everywhere. The stress of the day, the warmth of his body consumes her, and Arya falls asleep.

Arya wakes up to her blaring ringtone. "Stupid, fucking custom iPhone ringtone," she mumbles. She really isn't a morning person.

Arya opens her eyes and rubs the sleep out of them. Sighing, she sits up and looks for her phone. That's when she notices that there's a man sleeping in her bed. Gendry.

"Hey!" Arya punches him lightly in the shoulder. When he doesn't wake up, she punches him hard in the shoulder. "Wake up!"

"Ow! What?" Disoriented, Gendry slowly sits up and looks around the room. His gaze lands on Arya. "What'd you hit me for?"

"Who said you could sleep in my bed?" The phone has finally stopped ringing. It must have gone to voicemail.

"No one. I just fell asleep."

"You just fell asleep?"

Gendry pushes a hand through his messy hair. "Well, yeah."

"Get out of my bed."

"Hey, what's the big deal?"

There is no big deal. Arya is completely overreacting, and she knows it. Yet, she can't seem to relax. Last night. Everything with Gendry was too close for comfort. She can't have him sleeping in her bed. It'll make things complicated, and her life is complicated enough without him.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm not a morning person. But for the future, you cannot just sleep in my bed. This is my bed. You have your own bed."

"All right, all right." Gendry stands up and as the sheets slide off of him, Arya notices that he's shirtless. Her mouth dries. She can't believe she was sleeping next to that bare, very sculpted body last night without realizing it.

Her eyes widen. "Where the hell is your shirt?"

Gendry shrugs. "I guess I took it off when I was sleeping. It's kind of warm in here."

Yes it is. "Get your shirt and go home, Gendry."

"My cars still at the track. You drove me here, remember?"

"Well why-" Arya is about to start yelling at him again, but she realizes she sounds like a total bitch. "Right. Of course, you're right. Look, grab your shirt and go outside. I'll meet you at my car in a couple minutes, and I'll drive you back to the track."

Gendry shakes his head and smirks. "You really aren't a morning person."

"Another reason not to sleep in my bed uninvited."

"What about if I am invited?"

Arya's face flushes. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. She spies Gendry's shirt on the bed, so she grabs it, balls it up, and throws it to him. "Go outside. Wait at the car. Okay?"

Another smirk. "Okay."


	8. Chapter 8

Arya takes a deep breath. Get it together, she thinks. Don't let Gendry distract you just because he looks nice without a shirt on. Arya brushes a few strands of hair out of her face. Okay, really nice. Like unbelievably gorgeous. Her hotel room is a mess. Nymeria is sleeping on a pile of dirty clothing. There's leftover Chinese food sitting on the nightstand. Her bags are still only half unpacked.

For a moment, Arya can almost hear her mother's nagging voice. "Arya Stark, this place is a complete disaster. Is that spoiled food on the counter? You're going to get bugs! And if you get bugs, who do you think is going to pay for the fumigation?" Arya tries to ignore the imaginary voice. Mom's not here, she thinks, I'm on my own, and that's what I wanted. Right?

Right. Arya starts pulling apart her room, throwing clothes over her shoulder and tossing the sheets from her bed, until she finds her cell phone. It reads 1 voicemail. Arya presses listen and puts the phone to her ear:

It's Jon. Meet me at the South end of Cajon Cross at noon. We need to talk.

Jon's voice is terse, harsh even. Arya bites her lip. Growing up, Jon was always her hero, her idol. She hates the thought that he's mad at her. But it was inevitable. Arya glances at the time on her phone- it's already eleven. That means she has to take Gendry to his car and then meet Jon right after.

Nymeria is wide-awake now. She's sitting in the corner looking expectantly at Arya. "Sorry I've been so busy," Arya says guiltily. "You want to come with me to meet Jon?" And be my bodyguard if he decides to tie me up and take away my car keys so that I'll never race again?

Nymeria barks and stands up, wagging her bushy tail. "Okay, come on then."

"I can't believe you brought your dog," Gendry says, his voice muffled by Nymeria's thick fur.

Arya grins and glances to the side where Nymeria has decided to plant herself right in Gendry's lap. "You should be happy. She likes you now."

"If liking me means she's going to suffocate me, I'd rather not have it." Arya notices that despite complaining, Gendry still scratches Nymeria behind her ear. Nymeria nuzzles into the scratch, cocking her head to the side.

"I've been leaving her alone too often. I thought I'd let her come along for the ride."

"She's a dog, not a child. It's okay to leave her alone."

"How about I leave you alone on the side of the street?" Arya asks as she takes a sharp right turn.

"Fine. I'll try my best to get used to her. Right, Nymeria?"

Nymeria rotates in Gendry's lap so that she can give him a big, wet kiss on his face. Arya laughs. "Good girl."

"Very funny," Gendry says as he wipes the slobber off with his arm.

Arya bites her lip to stop her laughter. "Nymeria, back here." Arya whistles and pats the back seat. Nymeria jumps off of Gendry and settles down in the back. "Better?" Arya asks.

"Much. Thank you."

"So," Arya says as she pulls up to a red light. "Do you know where Cajon Cross is?"

"The street?"

"No. The theme park." Arya rolls her eyes. "Yes, of course the street."

"It's about seven miles south on Cajon Boulevard at the intersection. Why?"

"No reason." Arya bites the edge of her thumbnail.

"No reason at all? Because Cajon Cross is a pretty popular road to practice on."

"Huh. Is it?" Arya can't look at Gendry. He probably already knows that she's lying, and looking at him would make it even more obvious. "I just heard there was a good dry cleaners over there."

"There's nothing over there. Empty road." Gendry turns and looks Arya up and down with skeptical eyes. "Besides, what would you need to get dry cleaned? Your cotton tank top?"

Arya blushes as Gendry's gaze sweeps over her, even though it's only to inspect her clothing. "Never mind," she mutters.

"But really, Arya, what are you planning on doing over there? If you're going to practice, I want to come with you."

Arya turns to Gendry and narrows her eyes. "Why would you want to do that?"

"You could get hurt. There's no cell reception that far out. Who's going to save you this time?"

Arya snorts. "I'm not going to get hurt. Not that I'm actually racing," she hurriedly says. "But if I was going to race, I wouldn't get hurt. I practice on my own all the time. I'm not stupid."

"But these are unfamiliar roads, and you don't-"

"Gendry. Drop it, or I'll call Nymeria back to the front seat. And not all of her kisses are so sweet."

Gendry crosses his arms and stares Arya down. "I don't like it when you go all incognito on me."

"I don't really care what you like." That's a flat out lie, Arya says to herself. She thinks way too much about Gendry. The thought that he wants to protect her is infuriating and yet flattering at the same time. But he can't know what she's really up to. He has no idea that Jon is her brother, and if she tells him why she's going to Cajon Crossing, it will just lead to more questions and more answers she doesn't want to give.

Arya turns another corner, and the parking lot of the circuit appears. "Look we're here. Get in your car and just forget about what I said. I'm sure I'll see you later, all right?"

Gendry is staring at her as she pulls into the lot. "You're going to get yourself into trouble again, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Jon is sitting on the hood of his car when Arya pulls into the empty intersection of Cajon Cross. He's wearing dark wash jeans and a tight black t-shirt. The scruff on his face looks even thicker than before. His eyes are dark and calculated as he watches Arya get out of her car.

"Come on," Arya whistles, and Nymeria jumps out of the car and starts padding softly across the asphalt.

"You're late," Jon says as Arya approaches.

"I had to run an errand first." Arya scans Jon's face, searching for any hint of emotion. Is he angry? Forgiving? Furious? "And I'm only a minute late."

Jon jumps off the hood of his car and strides forward so that he's towering above Arya. He's not the giant of Arya's youth, but he still stands half a foot taller than her. Arya has to look up to meet his dark eyes. "You didn't listen to me," Jon says. "You raced even though I specifically told you not to."

"What did you expect, Jon? Did you think I would run home with my tail between my legs?" Arya kicks at a pebble on the ground. She's definitely in trouble. "You know why I came to San Diego."

"To get yourself killed obviously."

Arya rolls her eyes. Jon sounds exactly like Gendry. Overprotective and stubborn. When are they going to realize that she's not a little girl? "I've managed to keep breathing so far, so I guess I'm doing something right."

"You're doing nothing right. How could you possibly think that crashing a race would be a good idea? You saw Joffrey! He looked just about ready to bite your little head off, and you better be fucking grateful that the Hound wasn't in the mood to play games, or he really would have bitten you a new one. And what if Joffrey finds out who you really are? Sure, maybe he let Cat of El Cajon get away with the stunt you pulled, but he sure as hell wouldn't let Arya Stark get away with it!"

Arya crosses her arms. "Are you done yelling yet? And hey, why doesn't Joffrey recognize you when you race?"

"It's been six years since that little shit has seen me with our family. I've grown a foot, grown my hair, and grown a beard. There's nothing to recognize." Jon laughs bitterly. "I haven't been in the family Christmas card since 2005."

"I guess that's true." Every time Arya thinks of Jon leaving home, her stomach churns with bile. She's never truly forgiven her mother for what she did to Jon. It wasn't his fault that Bran got hurt. Arya looks up at Jon, and she knows that he's thinking of Bran and mom too. "I won't get hurt like he did," Arya says softly. "I can take care of myself. And if something does happen, it won't be your fault. You have to know that."

"I introduced you to racing. Of course it will be my fault."

"That's bullshit. Robb races too, and dad used to race for fun before he hurt his back."

"Yeah. Hurt his back." Jon grins bitterly and shakes his head.

"What?"

"Nothing." Jon sighs. "Never mind. Look, I didn't ask you here so we could spend the day arguing."

"Than why are we arguing and why am I here?"

"If you're going to insist on racing, which seems to be the case, than I'm going to make sure you know what the hell you're doing out there."

Suddenly a weight seems to lift from Arya's chest. Jon is going to help her. He's not only going to talk to her, but he's also going to help her race. Without warning, Arya leaps forward and wraps her arms tightly around Jon, tucking her head into his chest. Nymeria whines and follows Arya's actions by leaping on Jon and giving him a wet kiss. Jon laughs, deep and rumbling as he hugs the two back.

"Thank you, thank you," Arya says when she steps back. She knew Jon was always her favorite for a reason. Beneath all the surly attitude, he's the best brother anyone could ask for.

"Just don't make me regret this, all right? You have to promise to listen to everything I say. I don't want any attitude from you."

"I promise," Arya says hurriedly. "Come on. Let's get started."

"I'm serious Arya. You have to listen to everything I say. I want to teach you a new move that I've been working on, but it's really difficult, and if you mess up even a little bit-"

"I'll end up paralyzed in a pit a of smoke and debris. Yeah. I know." Arya grins, and after a second's hesitation, Jon smiles back at her. "Come on then hotshot, show me what you've got."

"All right. Wait here, and I'll show you the move first. Then we can start practicing."

Arya whistles for Nymeria and they walk to the edge of the road, sitting down on the hot pavement. Jon walks back towards his car and starts the engine. After backing up, he zooms down the road and out of sight.

Arya waits impatiently. She scratches Nymeria behind the ear but keeps her eyes trained on the road. "Come on, come on," she whispers. When she was younger, Jon always wanted to show her some new trick he learned. And they were always impressive. She can't wait to see this new one.

Finally his car appears on the horizon. Arya stands up and watches as he speeds down the road. Eventually, he starts hugging the right side of the street, driving dangerously close to its edge. And then, all of a sudden, he pops his car up. Not the front two tires in a standard wheelie, but he balances his car on the front and back left wheels so that he's almost driving vertically, half his car lifted off of the ground.

Arya stands and watches, her mouth wide open. "How the fuck..." she mumbles. Eventually Jon settles his car back to the ground and whips around, driving towards Arya. He stops the car short and smoke billows behind him.

When he rolls down the window, he's smiling like an idiot. "Nice trick, huh?" He asks.

"Can my car even do that?"

"All the right gears and bolts are already installed. I did it years ago, but I never mastered the trick until a month ago."

"Jesus," Arya says, brushing the hair out of her face. "That's going to be really useful on this circuit. With them racing five cars at a time, you could just slide right by."

Jon grins. "I know. Maybe I shouldn't teach you how to do it. I'd like to keep the advantage to myself." He sighs. "But I figure I'll beat your either way."

Arya raises her eyebrows. "I seem to remember beating you last night."

"Because you cheated."

"I didn't cheat."

"That's very debatable."

"So," Arya says, smiling. "My turn?"

"You're not pulling enough," Jon says for the thirtieth time.

"Yes, I am," Arya says through gritted teeth. She's been practicing for two hours now, which means Jon has been yelling at her from the passenger's seat for two hours.

"No you're not," Jon repeats. "If you were doing it right, you'd be in the air. We've been on the ground for hours now."

Arya leans over and punches Jon in the arm. "Just shut up, all right? You've had years to practice this. I'm trying to learn it in a day."

Jon laughs as he rubs his arm. "I see your temper hasn't changed much. How about we call it a break for today? I can meet with you tomorrow, and we can practice some more."

"Fine," Arya says.

"I don't want you practicing this on your own."

"Fine."

"I mean it. If you get hurt, no one will be here."

"Fine."

"I'm serious, Arya."

"Okay."

Arya parks the car and Jon and her both get out. Nymeria is sitting on the side of the road, panting in the hot sun. "I should get her home anyways," Arya says. "It's too hot in San Diego."

"Better than the cold," Jon says. "I hate the cold." Jon starts walking back towards his car, but before he gets there, he turns around and smiles at Arya. "I'll see you tomorrow, little sister."

"See you."

Okay, so maybe she lied. Just a little bit. As soon as Arya dropped Nymeria off at the motel, she scarfed down some food and headed straight back to Cajon Cross. By the time she gets back, she still has a few hours of sunlight to learn the trick, and she's determined to have it mastered by then.

She reaches over to her middle compartment, opens it, and pulls out her racing gloves. The supple leather makes her feel confident, in control. "Okay," she says, gripping the wheel. "Let's do this."

Hours pass by as she practices. Each time she is closer than the last, but she still can't seem to keep both wheels off of the ground for longer than a couple of seconds. And that's just not enough time to pass someone on the road.

The sun started to set half an hour ago, and the sky has turned a dusky purple. Arya flips on her headlights. She should probably head home soon. Her leg is cramping from hours of driving, and her hands feel rigid from continuously pulling the gears.

One more try, she tells herself, last time. I know I'll get it. Just one more time. Arya sets her jaw and pulls her car into drive. The engine hums beneath her. She massages the kinks out of her thigh and takes a deep, steadying breath. I can do this, she thinks, more determined then ever.

She slowly starts to accelerate down the road, building more and more speed as the seconds pass. Once she's clocking 90 mph, she yanks her gear, pulls the switch, and spins her wheel. And there it goes. The car starts lifting, first the front wheel and then the back one. Arya grins as the entire right side of her car hovers above the ground.

She spins the wheel further so that the angle is even harsher, letting her car take up half its usual space on the road. "Five seconds," she says. "Hold it for five seconds." Her car zooms down the road as she whispers. "Five, four, three, two...FUCK!"

Suddenly her leg spasms and she loses control of the wheel. The car rotates out, bangs to the ground, and heads straight for a ditch. Arya tries to regain control, but there's not enough time. Her car speeds forward, quickly approaching a tree. "Too fast, too fast," Arya mutters, her pulse racing. But as hard as she tries, she can't slow the car down, and the tree is approaching, and her car is topping 100 mph, and the tree is right there, and...

When Arya wakes up, her head is pounding. She lifts a hand to her forehead, and it comes away sticky and wet. Slowly she pries open her eyes only to see blood and broken glass. Arya grimaces. Her entire body feels stiff. She must have been knocked out for a while, and of course, no one has seen her on this deserted road.

Groaning, Arya manages to open her car door and roll outside. The night sky is black and dotted with thousands of stars. For a moment, Arya just lies there on the dirt ground, letting the tepid breeze wash over her. Her eyes start to close again, but she forces them open. "No more sleeping," she mutters, wondering if she has a concussion.

After testing her movements, Arya slowly stands up. Nothing seems to be broken. Except for her car. The entire front side is completely caved in. A hysterical panic rises up in Arya. Not my car, she thinks, oh god, not my car. She can't race without her car. She can't make money without her car. She can't do anything. She'll be useless. A failure.

Gendry.

Yes. Of course, Gendry. He'll fix it. He has to, Arya thinks. Ignoring the pains in her body, she gets back inside of her car and tries to start the engine. It stalls three times before it hums to life. Hopefully it'll make it to his shop.

As Arya pulls the car into reverse, she glances in her rearview mirror and sees red. "Fuck," she says. There's a giant gash on her forehead that's still bleeding. It doesn't hurt though. Maybe it's the adrenaline. Or the stress of her broken car. Arya bites her lip for a second before yanking off her tank top and tying it tightly around the cut on her head. It'll have to do for now.


	9. Chapter 9

The car shudders as Arya makes her way back down Cajon Boulevard. "Come on, come on," she whispers. "Don't break down on me now." It was too dark outside to assess the damage, but considering how far the hood was bent in, it's amazing that the car is running at all.

Arya licks her lips and wipes a hand across her damp forehead. It comes away sticky with dark blood. But she still can't feel the pain. She feels lightheaded and anxious- but there's no pain. The sign for Gendry's shop appears in the distance, and Arya puts more pressure on the gas pedal.

As she turns into the lot, she glances at the time. It's seven o'clock, and the lot is empty, but the garage door is open, and there's a light on. Arya pulls into the garage, her car rattling as she shifts it into park. I've made it, she thinks. Gendry will fix my car, and everything will be all right.

Arya spies Gendry through her cracked windshield. He's underneath a different car, but he slides back on his dolly as she shuts off her engine. Arya exhales. Yes, Gendry will fix it. She opens her car door and starts to stand up, but suddenly it feels as if all the blood has drained from her body. Vertigo washes over her, and she feels nauseous. She stumbles, tries to stand up, but instead rolls out of the car and lands hard on the concrete ground.

Her head is pounding, dull and heavy. She tries to open her eyes, but even the dim light makes her grimace in pain. She feels cold and weak. Her brain is fuzzy. She can't remember what happened or where she is.

Again, she opens her eyes but this time forces them to adjust to the light in the room. She's lying on an old, worn couch inside what looks to be someone's office. She slowly sits up, despite the sharp pain in her head and a stitch in her side. She has to take small, shallow breaths. What happened, she thinks.

She shivers and goes to tug her jacket more tightly around her body. It's only then that she realizes she's not wearing her own clothing. She looks down at the shirt. It's much too large for her, dark grey, and buttoned all the way to the bottom. Her pants have been stripped off, but the shirt is so large that it reaches to her mid-thigh. Arya narrows her eyes. There's a tag on the shirt, with a name stitched with white thread: Gendry.

And then it all comes rushing back to her in quick, sharp flashes. Racing down Cajon Cross. Crashing into the tree. Blood. Crawling out of the car. Blood. Blood. Driving to Gendry's shop. Opening the door...and then...

She must have passed out. Which means Gendry must have taken her to his office. And made sure she was all right. And stripped off her bloody clothing. Her cheeks flame with embarrassment. The thought of him looking at her unconscious body makes her shiver.

If he thinks he's going to get away with taking her clothes off than he really is an idiot. Slowly, Arya swings her legs over the side of the couch. Even that slight movement hurts, but she's intent on finding Gendry and giving him a piece of her mind. But just as she's figuring out how to stand up, the knob to the office turns, and Gendry walks in.

His surprised blue eyes catch hers. He's wearing jeans and a white tank top. There are splotches of dried blood on his clothing. "I didn't think you'd be awake yet," Gendry says. He's still standing in the doorway.

"Just thought you'd have another look at the unconscious, naked girl?"

"You're not naked."

"I'm more naked than when I got here."

Gendry narrows his eyes. "You weren't wearing a shirt when you got here." He takes a few steps forward, hesitates, and then walks all the way up to Arya. His blue eyes look worried. He crouches down so that their heads are at the same level. "Do you remember what happened, Arya?"

"Yes." She pauses. "Mostly. What do you mean I wasn't wearing a shirt?" But even as she asks the question, she remembers a glimpse of stripping off her shirt and tying it around her head. Her hand goes up to her head, but she's scared to touch anything. "How bad is it?" She asks.

Gendry looks down at the ground. His hands are clutching a greased rag, and he turns it in his fingers. "I thought you were two steps from dead when you pulled in here. I looked up and saw your bashed up car, and then your door opened and you crumpled into a pile of blood. I thought-" Gendry looks up. He grabs Arya's hand and runs a thumb against the warm skin. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it. What were you thinking driving yourself here?"

Arya's first instinct is to pull her hand away, but the touch of his skin against her own is oddly comforting. "I guess I wasn't really thinking. I saw my car- saw how much damage there was, and I decided that it needed to get fixed right away."

Gendry laughs short and sharp. "Oh god, Arya Stark. Risking her life for a hunk of metal. I can't say I'm surprised really." He takes his hand away, and Arya feels cold without the contact. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Sore. A little woozy. Pounding headache. My side hurts. Mouth is dry."

Gendry laughs again. "But besides that, you're totally fine, right?"

Arya manages a grin. "Right."

"Well I bandaged your head. You lost a lot of blood, but once I cleaned everything out, the cut was surprisingly shallow. I don't think you'll need stitches."

"I didn't know you had such an aptitude for nursing. Maybe you should give up cars, buy some scrubs, and start giving sponge baths."

"Doesn't sound like much fun."

"Depends who you're giving the bath to." Arya pauses and then blushes. Why the hell did I say that? "I want to see my car."

Gendry hesitates. "Maybe you should rest a bit more. You were only out for an hour, and-"

"I want to see my car."

"But, if you-"

"Gendry. I know it's bad, but I need to see it, all right?"

"Fine. All right." Gendry stands up. "Do you need help?"

"I've got it," Arya says, though she isn't sure if she does. Bracing herself, she grabs the end of the couch and slowly tries to stand up. "Fuck," she says, breathing deeply, her chest tight.

Gendry rolls her eyes before grabbing Arya and lifting her up bridal style. His strong arms easily hold her weight. "Hey, I said I've got it!" Arya says, struggling to get out of his arms.

"And I'm sure you do, but I don't feel like waiting around for another hour while you make it into the other room. I'm a very impatient man."

"I've noticed." Realizing there's no point in arguing, Arya relents and lets Gendry carry her. He has one arm around her back and the other splayed under her bare legs. She flushes at the touch, surprised at her slight arousal. Her eyes flash to Gendry's, and the way he looks at her tells her he's probably thinking the same thing.

"I still can't believe you took my clothes off," Arya mumbles as they make their way into the garage.

"Well I wasn't going to let you lie around in bloody clothes."

"My pants weren't bloody."

Gendry snorts. "Everything was bloody." He adjusts his hand, placing it further up her bare thigh. Arya bites her lip. She wants him. Despite him being stubborn, rude, and overprotective, she still wants him. And the look in his eyes makes her wonder if he wants her too. "Now," Gendry says, "Why don't your either shut up or say thank you for saving your life?"

"You didn't save my life."

"Yes, because if I left you lying in that pile of blood, I'm sure you'd be perfectly fine right now."

"If I were perfectly fine, I wouldn't have to be carried by you."

"You wouldn't have to be carried by me if you hadn't gone and gotten yourself in a fucking car wreck." Gendry puts Arya down on the workbench a bit too harshly, and the pain in her side sharpens. His blue eyes flash angrily. "Seriously, Arya, what the hell were you doing out there? I told you it wasn't safe to race alone, and then you go and do it anyways." Gendry starts pacing back and forth in front of the bench. "What would have happened if you were knocked out cold? What if you couldn't have driven over here?"

Here he goes again, Arya thinks, and I have a feeling he isn't going to stop this time. She grabs the bench and uses it to steady herself as she stands up. Gendry is so busy yelling that he doesn't notice as she approaches him. "There's no cell reception out at Cajon Cross. You could have been lying dead in a ditch. Fuck, who knows, wolves could have gotten to you. Or worse. Not everyone is nice Arya, what if someone else found you? Or what if you broke your legs or-"

Arya takes another step forward so that she's right in front of Gendry. She grabs him by both his arms and turns him towards her. "Gendry. Calm the fuck down," she says slowly. She pulls him closer. He's breathing heavily, his hard chest rising in and out. His blue eyes look wild. "I'm fine. I was stupid, but now I'm fine. Look-" She grabs one of his hands and presses it to her chest, right above her heart. "You feel that? My heart is still beating. I'm fine."

Gendry looks down at her, and her heart starts beating even faster. He takes another step forward, and for once in her life, Arya doesn't back away. His hand clutches Arya's shirt, pulling her closer. "You're fine," he repeats, his voice low and rough.

"Yes."

They stand there for a moment, both breathing heavily, eyes locked, hands clutched. And then something flickers in Gendry's eyes, and he leans forward and kisses her.

She knew it was coming. When she grabbed his hand, she knew it was coming. When she stood up from the bench, she knew it was coming. But the feeling of his lips against hers still manages to take her completely by surprise.

His lips are soft, warm, and his kiss is long and deep. Arya shivers, shocked at how arousing a simple kiss can be. She presses herself closer to his hard body as his hands tentatively wrap around her small back. She kisses him, breathing him in, overwhelmed by everything flooding through her.

He kisses her once more on the lips before moving away, tracing his lips across every inch of her, brushing kisses against her jaw, her ear, the side of her neck. Arya leans into the touch, clutching Gendry tightly. She's never been touched like this. She can feel the desire pulsing through both of them. And all she can think about is how she wants more.

She grabs Gendry by the back his neck and drags his lips back to her own. She kisses him hungrily, slipping her tongue into his warm mouth and gasping as soon as it touches his own. "Arya," he breathes, shuddering, as she attacks his mouth again and again. His hands skim down her back, brushing over her bottom and tracing her bare legs.

They take a step back, moving towards the workbench, lips never separating. Arya's body is on fire, and she grabs Gendry's shoulders, intending to push him onto the bench, but then her step falters, and suddenly she feels incredibly dizzy.

She tries to take a deep breath, but she falters again.

Gendry immediately notices that something is wrong. He takes Arya's arms and helps lower her to the bench, sitting her down gently. Arya's head is pounding again. Too much movement. Too fast.

She looks up. Gendry has taken a step back. He's breathing heavily, dark blue eyes filled with mixed emotions. "I shouldn't have done that," he says.

"Yeah?" Arya's chest is tight as she gathers her breath. "Why not?"

"God, I'm a fucking idiot."

"Well, we already knew that."

"I'm serious, Arya." He takes a step forward. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I just need to rest, that's all." Obviously, I got myself a little too worked up. Even now, she can't keep her eyes off of Gendry. She wants to kiss him again. Wants to strip off his shirt. She wants so many things, but she knows her body isn't up to it right now.

"I can't believe I did that." Gendry runs a hand through his already messed-up hair. "You get in a car accident, pass out, and the first thing I do when you wake up is fucking attack you."

Arya smirks. "Attack me?"

"Well, you know-"

"Gendry Waters, are you blushing?"

"Shut up." Gendry takes a breath and shakes his head. "Really, Arya, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't want you passing out on me."

"Why not? I'll probably wake up with even less clothes on."

Gendry starts blushing again, and Arya grins. "Joke," she says. "Kind of. Actually, could I please get some pants?"

Gendry's eyes skim over her bare legs, and the single look fills Arya with arousal all over again. God dammit, she thinks, this is obviously just a day of terrible decisions. I told myself I wouldn't get involved with him. I can't. But it's hard to tell herself that when Gendry keeps looking at her with that intense stare.

"How about I just take you home?" Gendry says. "That way you'll have you own clothes and you own bed, and we can...sort everything out tomorrow."

"Yeah. Sure. That's probably a good idea."

"Come on then. I'm assuming I can pick you up this time without you freaking out?"

Arya doesn't say anything, and she still squeaks a little when Gendry picks her up. It's just an odd feeling to be swooped up like a sack of flour. She feels almost weightless in his arms. She catches his eyes but then immediately looks away. It's probably best not to look at him when his warm hands are placed against her bare skin. She licks her bottom lip. Definitely not a good idea.

Gendry starts walking, but after a few steps, Arya says, "Stop."

"What?"

"I never saw my car."

Gendry curses under his breath. "I thought you'd forgotten about that."

"What, thought you'd just kiss me into distraction?"

"Well it worked for a while, didn't it?"

Arya blushes. "Shut up."

"Really, Arya. Let's just wait until tomorrow."

"No."

Gendry sighs. "Fine. But just promise me that you won't freak out. It's not as bad as it looks. I can fix it. Okay?"

Arya nods her head.

Gendry walks around to the other side of the garage, rounds the corner, and there it is. Arya's car. Except it doesn't look like Arya's car. It looks like a hunk of metal sitting in a junkyard. The front is completely smashed in. Arya's mouth feels dry, and she tries to swallow the lump in her throat. "You can fix that?" She asks.

"Yes." But he doesn't sound so sure, and despite herself, Arya feels a tear fall from her eye. What is she going to do without her car? Go home? Go to college? Any option means admitting failure and facing her parents. "Hey," Gendry says, "Look at me."

Arya draws her eyes to Gendry. "I'll fix it. I promise."

"But it's destroyed."

"I'm very good at my job."

"But-"

"Cat of El Cajon will be racing again by the end of the week. I promise."

"But-"

"I promise."

Arya isn't sure if she believes him, but his voice is strong, and his eyes are true. So she lets a last tear fall, gathers her breath, and says, "All right, Gendry. Take me home."


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa Interlude

It's dark outside. Sansa watches as Joffrey paces across the floor of his living room. She is sitting on the leather couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Sandor is standing by the window, staring out at the night sky as Joffrey continues to scream at him.

"I will not have you making a mockery of me in front of my own fucking circuit! Do you hear me, dog? Look at me!" Joffrey yells.

Slowly, Sandor turns around. He towers over Joffrey, and his shoulders are almost twice as wide. Coal black eyes stare Joffrey down, and Sandor's scarred lip breaks into a snarl. "A little louder, Joff. I didn't quite catch that last part."

Joffrey narrows his eyes. "I will not deal with your insubordination. I pay you to race for me. I pay you to fucking win for me. I pay you to protect me. I do not pay you to be a fucking incompetent, disobedient bastard! Now are you going to tuck your ragged tail between your legs and bow your fucking head, or am I going to have to fire you?"

"I dare you to fire me," Sandor growls. "Try showing up at the circuit without protection, and you'll find out just how loved you are."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact."

Sansa clasps her hands more tightly. It's not good for her when Joffrey gets mad, and Sandor is doing a very good job of pushing him over the edge. When Joffrey gets angry, he likes picking on the weak, on those smaller than him. And considering that the only person in the room besides Sansa is the hound, her chances aren't very good of escaping unharmed.

Unsure of what to do, she tentatively clears her throat. Joffrey whips around to look at her, eyes wild. "What is it?" He snaps.

"I've just remembered that I need to go home. There are some documents that I need to sign, and-"

Joffrey walks forward so that he's standing in front of Sansa. "Getting behind on your work, are you? I wouldn't want you to have the same fate as your pathetic, fucking father. Baratheon Corporations needs a Stark at all times to keep the mindless masses happy."

"Of course. You're so right." Sansa grabs her small purse and stands up. She sidles to the side so that there's space between Joffrey and her. "I'll go home right now and finish my work."

Sansa starts to turn around but Joffrey grabs her by the arm. His grip is tight and forceful. He yanks her so that she's standing in front of him. "You're hurting me, Joffrey," Sansa says.

"Don't be so pathetic." Joffrey only tightens his grip. "I won't have you running out of here so quickly. Don't think Sandor is the only one in trouble."

Sandor is still standing by the window, but his eyes are hard and narrowed in on Joffrey's hand. He takes just the smallest step forward so that Joffrey won't notice. "I haven't done anything wrong," Sansa says.

"Really?"

"Yes, of course." Sansa bites her lip and widens her eyes, praying she looks innocent. "Have I done something to bother you?"

"The other night at the track- why did you try to hold me back when that fucking mystery racer appeared? You never interfere with the races. Why were you suddenly so interested in keeping me uninvolved?"

Sansa bows her eyes. "I didn't want you to get hurt, Joffrey."

"You thought a little girl could hurt me? How pathetic do you think I am?" Joffrey finally releases the grip on Sansa's arm and shoves her to the couch.

"I don't," Sansa whispers. "Of course I don't think that."

Joffrey steps forward and lowers his voice. "Than what the fuck were you trying to do? Protect the girl? Do you know who she is?"

Sansa's face pales. "Of course not."

"You're lying."

"I'm not." Her voice is unsteady, and Sansa prays Joffrey doesn't notice. He can't know about Arya, she thinks, he can't know. He's just bluffing. Sansa stands back up so that she's in front of Joffrey. She raises a hand and presses it against his cheek. "I love you, Joffrey. I would never lie to you."

Her heart is beating wildly. Joffrey narrows his eyes. "You're a stupid, lying, bitch," he spits out before smacking her across the face.

Sansa gasps and stumbles backwards. She raises a hand to the tender cheek, and tears prick at her eyes. Sandor is still standing silently behind Joffrey, but his jaw is clenched tightly, and his hand is hovering above the knife he keeps latched to his belt.

Breathe, Sansa tells herself, ignore the pain. Make Joffrey believe you. For Arya. She takes a steadying breath before stepping forward once more. Joffrey is staring at her with wild eyes. "I don't like it when you hurt me," Sansa says quietly. "It shows weakness. I was just trying to be honest, and-"

"Are you calling me weak?"

"That's not what I-"

"You think I'm weak? That I'm some stupid, little bastard that you have wound around your fucking finger?"

"That's not-"

"You will learn to respect me, Sansa. I am your fucking fiancé. You answer to me. You obey me."

The thought of obeying Joffrey for the rest of her life makes Sansa sick to her stomach. The thought of living under the rule of some over-privileged tyrant for year after year is horrifying. "Marriage is a communion of equals," Sansa says, "and I will not-"

And then Joffrey punches her. A sharp right hook to her cheekbone. The pain is instant and overwhelming. Sansa falls to the couch, her vision blurring. She can feel Joffrey approach, but she's too dizzy to keep her eyes open. "We are not equals, and you'd better learn that soon enough, or I'll beat the lesson into you." Sansa gasps in pain, in fear. She lifts a hand to her cheek and it feels wet with blood and tears.

"As for you hound-" Joffrey is further away now. "You'd better learn to respect me or get the fuck out of San Diego. Now clean that bitch up for me, and I'll see you both tomorrow."

As soon as Joffrey slams the door shut behind him, Sansa starts crying. Tears slide down her face, the salt burning the cut in her cheek. She tries to stay calm, but she knows her entire body is trembling. Joffrey has hit her before but never this hard. And what's to keep him from doing it again and again?

"Stop crying, would you?" Sandor says, his voice rough.

Sansa opens her eyes. The room is titled sideways, and her vertigo is making her nauseous. Sandor steps forward and crouches down. Even on his knees, he still towers above Sansa as she lies on the couch. He lifts a hand to her face, and Sansa automatically flinches away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," his says gruffly. "I'm just seeing how bad the damage is. One of Joffrey's rings must have cut you."

"All right," Sansa whispers. It's strange. She never imagined in her entire life that the hound would be nursing to her. His black eyes are dark and intent as his hand gently sweeps against her cheek. For some reason, up close, his scars don't look as menacing. Sansa can almost see the handsome, young man behind the burned face.

"Does this hurt?" He asks, as he gently prods the cut.

Sansa winces. "Yes."

Sandor's hand sweeps down the rest of her face, touching even the unbruised parts. Sansa blushes as his thumb just barely brushes against the side of her lip. She can't read his dark eyes, but she feels as if she's lain naked before him, and that he can hear her each and every thought. Unsettling man, she thinks. Yet still much more comforting than Joffrey.

Finally, Sandor takes his hand away. He stands up and clears his throat. "The cut doesn't look too bad, but you're going to have a lot of swelling tomorrow."

"Would you mind," Sansa pauses. She's embarrassed to ask Sandor for help. "Is there any chance you could take me home? I'm afraid to drive. I'm feeling very dizzy."

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No, definitely no." Sansa can just imagine that unfolding. The nurse asking her what happened, trying to lie, and then eventually breaking into tears and admitting that her fiancé abused her. "Just a ride home, please."

"Fine." Sandor steps forward and suddenly lifts Sansa from the couch. She feels tiny in his giant arms.

Her face flushes. "You don't have to carry me."

"I won't have you passing out on this hard floor."

"I suppose, thank you then." Sandor is right. Sansa is sure she wouldn't make it five steps without collapsing. Her head is still spinning. Everything feels safer with her head cradled against Sandor's hard chest.

"You left some blood on the couch," Sandor says. "Maybe we should clean it."

Sansa glances at the stain. It's barely visible against the dark leather. "No. Leave it." Maybe one day, Joffrey will see it as a reminder and actually regret the monster he is.

That night Sansa dreams of a car bursting into flames. There's a driver inside. Sansa rushes towards the car and pries open the melting, scorched door. "Arya," she gasps, expecting to find her little sister inside. But instead, it's the hound who turns towards her, his face burned and charred. "Come to save me?" He asks, his grin twisted and terrifying. "Come to fly me away little bird?" "Where's my sister?" Sansa gasps. He grins again, flakes of skin flying into the wind. "You can't save everyone, little bird."

When Sansa wakes up, her entire body is slick with cold sweat. She wants to curl into a ball and go back to sleep, but her face feels stiff and tender, and she's far too curious to see what damage Joffrey has done.

Just the thought of his name makes her furious. He's always been abusive, but usually it was verbal abuse, and Sansa can take any spiteful word he throws at her. However, she can't defend herself from these physical assaults. Even if she were able to a get a few punches in, Joffrey would eventually overpower her, and she would turn out worse for the wear.

She makes her way to her vanity table and gasps when she sees her face. The entire left side is swollen, and there's a sharp cut down her cheek. She tentatively touches the swollen area and winces in pain. "Fuck," she whispers. She's supposed to be at a meeting at 10 o'clock, but there's no way she can go into the office looking like this.

Sansa grabs her foundation and starts applying it thickly over the bruised skin, but it doesn't help much. There's no way to hide the swelling or the cut. Frustrated, Sansa throws her foundation onto the dresser where it clangs against the wood. She'll have to miss work, which will make Joffrey even more furious.

The thought of packing up of all her things and simply driving back to Montana is incredibly tempting. She's considered it before, but then she remembers why she's stuck with Joffrey in the first place. If she leaves him, he will sue her father and ruin the prospects of her entire family. No. She has to stay. She has to be strong.

She grabs her cell phone and calls the office. The secretary immediately picks up. "Melissa, this is Sansa. I won't be able to come into today. I'm not feeling well." She hangs up before Melissa can respond. That way there's no need to answer questions with more lies.

Sansa places her cell phone back on the table and heads to the bathroom. If she's going to take the day off of work, she might as well enjoy it by lounging in the bath for a while. Just as she's turning the knobs on the tub, there's a knock on the door.

Her stomach automatically clenches in fear. Joffrey, she thinks, he's come over to make sure I've learned my lesson. Her heart starts racing. Maybe I'll just go back to bed. I'm sleeping. I'm still sleeping, and I didn't hear the door.

Someone knocks again. This time louder. And then a voice speaks up, "I know you're in there! I see the light on!"

Arya. It's not Joffrey, it's Arya! Sansa sighs in relief. She rushes towards the door and pulls it open. Arya is standing there in jean shorts and a black tank top. There's a large bandage on her forehead and bruises on her arms.

"What happened?" Sansa gasps, immediately forgetting about Joffrey.

Arya laughs. "What happened to me? What about what happened to you?" Arya walks through the door, right past Sansa. "That's a nice shiner you've got there, sister."

Sansa's hand goes up to her cheek. She wishes she had tried putting on more foundation. What is she going to tell Arya? That Joffrey hit her? Or should she lie? "Thanks, same to you. What happened?"

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "Crashed the car. Pretty stupid of me, to be honest." She's pacing around Sansa's apartment, picking things up and putting them back down. "This is a nice place. How do you afford it?"

"Baratheon Corporations pays me to smile prettily."

"Right. So who'd you get in a fight with? I never imagined Sansa Stark in a fist fight."

"It's not important."

Arya steps forward and catches Sansa's eye. "He hit you didn't he?" Her voice is dripping with distaste.

"It's not important," Sansa repeats.

"I won't let him hit you."

"Really? What are you going to do about it? Fight him back? You may be strong, Arya, but you're tiny."

"And he's a tiny little piece of shit, and I'm not going to let him beat up on my sister!" Arya grabs Sansa's hand and squeezes it tightly. "I understand that you're trying to sacrifice yourself for the family, Sansa, but don't be stupid. Do you think mom or dad or Bran or Robb would want you to get yourself beat up over it?"

"Of course not, but-"

"But what?" Arya crosses her arms.

"But it's for the good of everyone, and besides, this is the first time Joffrey has hit me this hard. He was mad at Sandor, and he took it out on me." Best not to mention that he was mad because a new racer showed up. Sansa doesn't want Arya blaming herself.

"And you think he won't do it again?"

Sansa sighs. "I'm not sure."

"I don't want you seeing him alone anymore."

"How are you going to manage that?"

Arya throws her hands up in frustration. "This is insane. I'm not going to let you be Joffrey's chew toy. Look, I came over here this morning because he called about half an hour ago. He wants me in the race this Friday. I'm going to continue to race anonymously, but I don't want you getting hurt if for some reason my real identity comes out. I think you should get out of town for awhile."

"I can't do that, and you know it."

"Well then maybe I shouldn't race," Arya says, but Sansa knows it would absolutely kill her sister to stop racing.

"No. You came here to race, and you're racing."

"Well than what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe," Arya is pacing now. "Maybe I have an idea. What if you agreed to at least learn how to defend yourself? That way if Joffrey gets rough again, you can do something about it."

Sansa narrows her eyes. "I've never been good at fighting or sports or any of that, Arya. That was always your territory."

"That's because you never practiced, and you never wanted to get your nails messed up."

"Well who's going to teach me?"

"I will! Well, no..." Arya pauses, pacing again. "I don't really have time. I need to get my car fixed and practice for Friday, but I promise you that I will find someone for you by the end of the day."

Sansa narrows her eyes. "Who are you going to find? You just moved here. You don't know anyone besides Jon and that mechanic that seems to have taken a liking to you."

Arya's face blushes at the mention of the mechanic, and Sansa realizes that's a topic she wants to pursue later. "I'll find someone."

"The thing is, I know someone who might be willing to help me."

"Who?"

"He hates Joffrey as much as I do, and he definitely knows how to fight."

"Who?" Arya repeats.

"Sandor Clegane."

Arya snorts. "You want that fucking monster of a racer to teach you how to fight?"

"He's not a monster. He's actually quite gentle for his size."

"Gentle for his size?"

"Look. He's strong, and he's smart, and he hates Joffrey."

"You think he'll agree to teach you?"

"If you pay Sandor enough, I'm pretty sure he'll agree to do just about anything."


	11. Chapter 11

"Arya! How are you? Why haven't you called? How are your classes?" Arya winces at the onslaught of questions from her mother. This is what she gets for not calling for a week.

"I'm fine, mom." Except from my broken car, the cut on my forehead, and this little shit named Joffrey. "Classes are great."

"Have you made any new friends?"

"A few."

"Have you met any cute boys?"

Arya blushes, immediately thinking of Gendry. It's only been a day since they've kissed, and despite trying to erase the moment from her memory, she can't stopping thinking about it. Soft lips. Warm, hard body.

"No boys," Arya says firmly.

"Well there's plenty of time for that. You're young. Live your life."

Arya snorts. If only her mother knew the extent to which she was living her life. "How are the boys?"

"Bran is wonderful. He's been keeping his grades up. I think he'll definitely be valedictorian. He misses you though." Her mother sighs. "But Rickon got in trouble at school. Again."

"What was it this time?" Arya asks, smiling. Rickon is the only Stark child that manages to get into more trouble than Arya.

"Apparently, this other boy, Bobby, was picking on one of Rickon's friends. So Rickon put rubber cement glue on Bobby's chair, and it ripped off half his pants when he stood up."

"Typical. Is he in trouble?"

"Nothing too bad. Just another final warning."

"That's good to hear." Arya bites the corner of her nail. "How about dad? How's he doing?" Ever since her father was fired from Baratheon Corporations, he's been struggling to find steady work. He puts on a brave face, but Arya knows how worried he is about supporting the family.

"He's fine. He got a lead on some new work this morning. Some Japanese car that wants to land in America."

"That sounds promising."

"I hope so."

Arya glances at the clock. It's almost six. She's supposed to meet Gendry at the garage right after close so she can help with the car. "Mom, I've got to go. Some girls are getting together for a movie night."

"That sounds like fun. Have a good time, sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you too."

Arya ends the call and bites her lip. Lying to her family is becoming easier and easier. She doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Arya has to take a bus to get to Gendry's garage. It drops her off three blocks away, so she walks the rest of the way. By the time she gets to the shop, her cheeks are red and she's lightly sweating from walking in the damp heat. Self-consciously, she smoothes out her short hair and tugs at her jean shorts and tank.

She doesn't know what to expect. Last night, she got in a car accident, and it somehow ended up with Gendry kissing her. Or her kissing Gendry. Or kissing each other. It was so sudden. Of course, she's found herself attracted to Gendry in the past few days, but she assumed he looked at her like a little girl.

Why on earth would a grown mechanic be interested in a skinny, little racer?

Maybe it was just a moment. Just something that happened, and now they'll both move on. Arya has more important things to be concerned about, like her upcoming race on Joffrey's circuit and her sister. She doesn't need some schoolgirl crush getting in the way.

Arya heads straight into the shop without ringing the bell. When she gets inside, she finds Gendry bent over her car with a mask on his face and a soldering iron in his hand. He hasn't noticed her yet, so she watches him from a distance. Her eyes slowly trace over his strong, greased arms, his tousled dark hair, his full lips.

He must be the most attractive man she knows. He's definitely the most attractive man she's ever kissed. She watches him for a few more moments before clearing her throat and shouting, "Gendry!"

The soldering iron shuts off and Gendry lifts his mask. From the distance, Arya can't read the expression in his blue eyes. "Thought you'd come and help then?"

"Considering I crashed the car, I figure it's my duty to at least watch you fix it."

Gendry smirks. "I thought you hated me working on your car."

Arya eyes the crushed hood, the massive dents and scraps. "Let's just say this is above my level of expertise. I'm here for moral support."

"No you're not."

"Excuse me?"

"Grab a wrench. You're not getting out of here without getting your hands dirty."

Gendry smiles at her again, and Arya's pulse starts racing. She heads over to the tool chest and grabs a wrench. She spins it a few times in her hand before looking up at Gendry. "So," she says. "Are we going to talk about yesterday?"

Gendry places the iron down on the edge of the car. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his workpants. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk about it."

"Well of course I don't want to talk about it, but we're going to have to say something eventually, so why don't we just get it over with?" Arya crosses her arms. "You first."

"Why me?"

"Because I said so." Arya rolls her eyes, thinking, I'm doing a great job of sounding mature for my age.

"Fine. At least walk over here. I don't need to shout half-way across the room, do I?"

Arya spins the wrench in her hand a few more times before slowly stepping forward. She leans against the side of the car so that there's still some space between the two of them. But that space feels a lot smaller after last night. Arya glances at Gendry to find his blue eyes on hers. She bites her lip, trying to suppress any desire. "Close enough?" She asks.

"Yes."

God, why is his voice so low, Arya thinks. And why does he keep looking at me like that?

"So," Gendry continues. "Last night was very...sudden. And I've been thinking about it, and I owe you a very large apology." Without warning, Gendry takes Arya's hand. Her face flushes as his rough skin touches her own. She forces herself to meet his serious eyes. "You came to me injured, Arya, and I took advantage of you. Instead of taking you to the hospital, I, well, I pressed myself upon you in a way that was very inappropriate. And I'm sorry."

"You pressed yourself upon me?" Arya asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, I assaulted you."

Arya snorts. "Assaulted me?"

"I touched you in a way..."

"Now it just sounds like I was molested." Arya crosses her arms, pleased that she's managed to make Gendry flustered. She didn't like that serious look in his eyes. "Look, Gendry, whatever you did or did not do, you in no way took advantage of me. I'm not a little kid. I knew what I was doing."

"I'm not saying that you're a little kid, but you are much younger than me, and you were wounded, and I had no right to..." Gendry sighs, frustrated. He lets go of Arya's hand and starts pacing in front of the car. "I had no right to kiss you. It was inappropriate, and I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

Arya's stomach drops. It won't happen again. But what if she wants it to happen again? Does that make any difference?

"I'm not that much younger than you," Arya mumbles.

"Hell, Arya. You're only eighteen. I'm twenty-four. That's a big difference."

"My father is years older than my mother." Arya bites her tongue immediately after saying that. She has to remember not to bring her family up around Gendry. The less he knows the better. "Besides, I'm mature for my age."

"You call getting yourself into a fucking car accident in the middle of the night on an abandoned road mature?"

Arya narrows her eyes. "That's besides the point, and you know it." Arya steps forward and grabs Gendry's hand. Again, she forces herself to look him in the eye, despite blushing. "Look," she says softly. "If you aren't interested in me like that, than that's okay. I understand. But don't use my age as an excuse." Oh god, what am I saying, Arya thinks. I'm practically throwing myself at a man who probably doesn't even like me. "I'm not, I'm not saying we should be together or anything like that, all right? I'm not asking you to be my stupid boyfriend. I'm just saying that there's obviously some sort of attraction between us, and if you could just stop being a dumb idiot for two seconds and admit that, than we could move on."

Gendry smirks. "A dumb idiot?"

"Press yourself upon me?" Arya let's go of Gendry's hand and takes a step back. Her face is probably bright red.

"So that's what you want?" Gendry asks. "You want to move on."

Is that really all he picked up from what I just said? "I just want everything to be out in the open so that we can get back to what's important: my car."

It's the most sensible thing she's said all day. Racing is what matters. Not some stubborn mechanic. No matter how broad his shoulders are.

"Fine." Gendry picks up the soldering iron. "We kissed. It happened. For one reason or another, and now we're moving on."

"Right."

"Right." Gendry puts his mask back on. "Now grab that wrench so that we can get to work."

For the next few hours, Arya helps Gendry work on her car, thinking the entire time that they settled absolutely nothing. That she has no idea how he feels about her. And that she has no idea if she'll ever get to kiss him again.

The car isn't fixed until Friday morning. That leaves Arya only a few hours to practice before the race that night. She heads out to Cajon Cross, promising Gendry that she won't practice her new trick alone, and that if he doesn't hear from her by sundown, he's allowed to call in a search party.

Arya slides open her phone and dials Jon's number. He picks up on the first ring. "Where the hell have you been?" He asks. Arya rolls her eyes. He's angry as usual. "I went back out to Cajon Cross the next day, and all I found was a toppled over tree, some blood, and broken glass. And then you don't pick up your phone for the rest of the week. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Arya says with bored sarcasm.

"I know you're fine or you wouldn't be calling." Jon sighs, and Arya can imagine him pacing back and forth in his apartment, Ghost watching his every step.

"I'll be in the race tonight. Will you be there?"

"No. I'm sitting this one out. Full roster, apparently, and I could use the break."

"So it'll be me, the Hound, and who else?"

"Not totally sure. Probably Loras. He isn't very tricky, but he's fucking fast, and he has the best reaction time I've ever seen." Jon pauses. "And then I guess one more racer. Not sure who."

"Loras. The name sounds familiar."

"I think he's family friends with the Baratheons. I'm not sure."

"All right." Arya bites her lip. She's nervous. She was hoping Jon would be in the race tonight. That way she'd be up against at least one familiar face. "Will you be there, you know, in the audience?"

"Of course, I will. I don't want someone beating my little sister into a bloody pulp without me there to stop them."

"Thank you for that wonderful visual and those words of encouragement."

"I'm just being honest, Arya. I've warned you once, and twice-"

"-and a third and a fourth time-"

"It's dangerous out there. These aren't all nice people. So protect yourself, and don't be dumb."

"Anything else?" Arya asks.

"Yeah. One more thing." Jon pauses. "Win the race."

Arya's pulse is racing as she pulls up to the line of cars. She's late. There are already three cars parked beside hers on the starting line. She shuts off her engine and tugs her hat low before stepping out of the car. The crowd of spectators is larger than usual, and Arya wonders if that's because Cat of El Cajon is racing tonight.

She spies Gendry in the crowd. Jon is standing less than ten feet away from him. The sight makes her nervous, and she prays they won't start talking to each other. Next to them is Joffrey's tent. Sansa sits under it, talking to another girl who is wearing very tight shorts and a cropped shirt. Sansa flickers her gaze towards Arya for just a second before looking away again.

"I'm so glad you've decided to grace us with your presence, Cat." Arya looks up to find Joffrey standing right in front of her. He's wearing black pants and a plain, white top. Much more casual than his usual attire. Arya notices a pair of racing gloves sticking out of his pocket.

"Sorry I'm late." She eyes the gloves. "Are you racing, Joffrey?"

"I've decided to test out the skill of the new racer myself, seeing as how my dog hasn't been very cooperative lately." He glances at Sandor who is leaning against his own car. "I hope that doesn't change your mind about racing. I wouldn't want to scare you away."

Arya bites back a laugh. There's no way Joffrey is a better racer than her. This will be a piece of cake. "I'm all right, but thank you for considering my feelings."

Joffrey takes a step forward, and Arya bows her head down. "Still won't show us your face, Cat? It can't be worse to look at than Sandor's."

Arya doesn't respond.

"Fine. The race will start in ten minutes. I'll see you at the finish line." Joffrey strides away back to his tent. Arya watches as he snaps at Sansa. She immediately leans over to help him put on his gloves.

Someone taps Arya on the shoulder and she spins around. Gendry is standing behind her, his blue eyes panicked. He steps closer and leans down so that his mouth is against her ear. She shivers at the contact. "You have to lose the race," he whispers.

"Why?" Arya asks, confused.

Gendry stands back up but keeps his voice low. "You can't beat Joffrey."

Arya laughs. "I can definitely beat Joffrey."

"Keep your voice down." He takes another step forward. Arya can feel the heat radiating off his body. She tries to pay attention to the conversation, but being so close to Gendry is distracting. She's feels like they've been playing cat and mouse all week. And whenever he's around, her thoughts drift back to the feeling of his lips against her own. "I'm mean, you shouldn't beat Joffrey. He'll be furious. He'll never let you race again. A couple times a year, Joffrey gets bored and decides he wants to race himself, and everyone lets him win."

"But, why? That's stupid."

"Because if he doesn't win, he'll shut the circuit down. He'll be embarrassed and furious, and that'll be the end of it. Without Joffrey's deep pockets, this circuit won't survive."

"So everyone just lets him win?"

"Yes." Gendry locks eyes with Arya. "And you better let him too. Don't let your stubborn pride get in the way."

"I'm not stubborn."

Gendry raises an eyebrow.

"All right, fine. I'll let him win."

"Good." Gendry grabs Arya's hand and squeezes it tightly for just a second. "I'll see you after the race, Arya Stark."


	12. Chapter 12

Arya pulls on her leather racing gloves before flexing her hands twice and placing them on the wheel. She glances to the side, waiting for the whistle to be blown. She's on the left edge. Joffrey is next to her, than Loras, than Sandor. Joffrey catches her stare and narrows his eyes. Arya quickly tugs down her cap. She doesn't like how it impairs her vision, but it's better than Joffrey finding out her real identity.

The whistle blows and Arya guns the gas. She shifts the car, quickly gaining speed, 30...55...90...110...All of the cars are neck and neck as the speed down the first stretch of road. Arya holds steady, still unsure of what to do.

Gendry told her to throw the race, to let Joffrey win. She trusts Gendry's advice. She believes that if Joffrey loses, he'll through a fit and possibly shut down the circuit. But still- Arya can't comprehend losing on purpose. Losing a race is bad enough. Why would she want to give one away?

At least she didn't bet any money on this first race. If she let's Joffrey win, the only thing she'll lose is her pride.

Arya looks to the right. Loras has begun to surge away from the pack, but Sandor is right at his tail. He edges dangerously close to Loras' bumper before barely banging it. Loras swerves to the side, and by the time he regains control of his car, he's a few seconds behind the rest of the racers.

Joffrey is still holding ground with Arya. She could slow down and then edge around his side before bursting forward. Or she could sidle right next to Joffrey's car and bully him into slowing down or getting hit. Or she could stay exactly where she is and let him win.

She bites her lip. There's less than a mile left on the circuit. She'll have to make a decision soon. She tries to think about what Jon would do. He's been racing in this circuit for years near. He must have raced Joffrey at some point. And I guess he let Joffrey win, Arya thinks, or that would have been his last race. It doesn't seem like Jon to let someone bully him into losing. It doesn't seem like Jon to let someone get their way just because they have money.

Fuck. While lost in her thoughts, Arya somehow surged ahead of Joffrey and Sandor. She stopped concentrating on keeping level, and instead, starting driving on autopilot. And Arya's autopilot is to drive as fast as possible.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There's only half a mile left in the stretch. She's at least two car lengths in front of Joffrey. If she slows down now, it'll look like she's losing on purpose. But if she doesn't slow down, she'll win the race.

Which one is worse?

Arya spies Loras in her rearview mirror. He's coming up straight behind her. Joffrey is to his side. Arya chews on her lip, panicked, pulse racing. What do I do?

At the last second, she spots a ditch in the road, just a few paces to her left. She quickly swerves and let's her car dive into the pothole. It's not large enough to do any damage, but it slows her down by a few seconds, and Joffrey rushes past her. Along with Loras and Sandor.

Dammit, Arya thinks as she crosses the finish line in last place. Not only have I let Joffrey win, but in my idiocy, I let Sandor and Loras beat me too.

Arya pulls her car into park and shuts off the engine. She breathes deeply, trying to control her anger. At herself. At the entire situation. As she steps out of the car, she slams her door shut behind her.

Joffrey is standing in front of his car, waving at the cheering crowd. Arya notices that the applause isn't half as loud as the first race she went to. Joffrey walks over to Sandor and slaps him on the back. "Second place, not bad for a dog," he says. "I'm glad you know where you belong now."

Sandor stares him down with cold, black eyes, but he doesn't say a word. He nods stiffly at Loras and Arya before stalking back to his car and driving away. Joffrey turns to Loras and shakes his hand. "Fine racing," Joffrey says. "It's a pity Sandor managed to bump you off in the beginning. It's hard to make up for that kind of loss."

Loras shakes Joffrey's hand and smiles. For the first time, Arya notices how attractive Loras is. He has thick, curly hair and a charming smile. "There'll be another race another night. I hope to test my skill against your excellent ability once more."

"A gracious loser is a winner in my accounts. Please, join me at my tent. Your sister and my fiancé seem to be great friends, and I'd like it if we could all go to dinner together."

"Of course. Thank you, Joffrey." Loras heads towards the tent. Arya watches as the girl in the tight shorts and top stands up to hug him and place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Sansa smiles affectionately in Loras' direction.

"And you," Joffrey says, approaching Arya. "I thought you had me for a moment, but obviously my skill far surpasses yours." He says this loudly so that the whole street can hear.

But as he gets closer, he grabs Arya's hand. He shakes it once before gripping it tightly. He leans in and whispers coldly in her ear, "I know you threw that race. And I'm sure a few of the more intelligent spectators out there know the same thing. I won't have you embarrassing me on my own circuit by letting me win."

Everyone let's you win you little piece of shit, Arya wants to snap back. But she opens her mouth and tries to speak as sweetly as Sansa. "I don't know what you mean, Joffrey. I didn't see that ditch coming, and when I crashed into it, I lost my speed." She takes a step closer. Being so close to Joffrey makes bile churn in her stomach. But she won't let him intimidate her. "Maybe you should do a better job of keeping your circuit clean and paved."

"Don't you dare accuse me of negligence."

"Oh, I'm not accusing you of negligence. I'm accusing whoever you pay to keep this circuit in order of negligence."

"I am in charge of this circuit."

"Well then." Arya crosses her arms. "I guess it is your fault. Why don't you try fixing the road before throwing another four racers onto it."

Joffrey narrows his eyes and steps forward. "You are edging dangerously close to suspension from this circuit."

"What for?"

"For being a pesky, little bitch."

Arya suppresses the urge to step on Joffery's foot and punch him in the nose. "I'm sorry, Joffrey. I was just suggesting that if you wanted to win in a fair race, you could make sure the conditions are in perfect order. Now if you don't mind, I'm tired and would like to head home."

"Fine," Joffrey snaps. "Be here next Friday. If you lose again, you're off the circuit. If you lose on purpose, I'll fucking run you out of San Diego and strip your car of its parts. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly. Good night, Joffrey."

"Fuck," Arya screams as her car slams back down onto the pavement. She's been practicing all week, trying to perfect the trick Jon taught her, but she can't keep the car in the air for long than four seconds. It'll take at least five to pass someone in a race.

"Why don't we take a break?" Gendry asks from the passenger seat. He looks a little nauseous. Probably from being in Arya's car for three hours straights as she lifts it vertically.

"No," Arya says firmly. "I have to race again in two days, and I want to have this trick down cold before that happens. You are more than welcome to go home, and I can keep practicing by myself.

Gendry laughs. "Yes, because that worked out so well last time."

"I don't know why you insist on babysitting me. I'm not a child." Even though you might look at me like one, Arya thinks. It's been almost a week since they've kissed, and Arya hasn't dared to broach the topic again. She's too nervous to get shot down.

"I'm not babysitting you. I'm just making sure you don't get yourself killed."

"You do realize that if I crash this car, I'll kill you too, right?"

"Well then please don't crash the car." Gendry glances at Arya. "You still haven't paid me for the parts from the last time you crashed it. I can't afford to fix it again."

Arya looks at Gendry guiltily. She feels terrible that she hasn't paid him back yet, but if she takes any more money from her account, her parents will get suspicious. And she knows Gendry doesn't really have the money to spare. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry. But if I get this trick down, I will definitely win the race on Friday. And I'll bet on myself and make plenty of money from winning. Enough to pay you back and enough to afford my motel."

"Your motel?"

"Yeah." Arya bites her lip. "Yesterday was my last night. I'm out of cash."

"So where are you going to sleep tonight?"

"Sansa's."

"Arya," Gendry says, leaning over in the seat. "You can't sleep at Sansa's."

"Why not?"

"What if Joffrey comes over?"

"Fuck. Of course you're right." And I can't sleep at Jon's, she thinks, because he's still pissed at me for racing. There's no way I can ask him to help me out even more than I already have. "I guess I'll just sleep in my car then. It'll only be a couple nights, and then I'll win the race and have plenty of money."

"Don't be an idiot. You'll sleep at my place."

Arya looks at Gendry, his blue eyes serious. "I don't know, Gendry." Just the thought of sleeping in his apartment makes her pulse race. She's still hasn't been to his place. But if she sleeps there, she'll see where he sleeps, where he showers. A knot of desire tightens in her stomach. She licks her lip. "Maybe that's not such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Well. I just. I don't know." Arya looks out the window and then back to Gendry. "Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing?"

"What a polite question from, Arya Stark."

"Shut up."

"And you spoiled it." Gendry leans closer and grabs Arya's hand. Her skin feels heated. "But, no, Arya. You would not be imposing. I see you all day anyways. I don't think it'll make a difference if you sleep at my apartment too."

Arya pulls her hand away. She gets too distracted whenever he touches her. "All right. If you insist." She grabs the gearshift and pulls the car into drive. "But before our sleepover, I'm going to practice the trick at least ten more times." Arya glances at Gendry. "Please don't throw up in my car."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gendry says, all while slouching down in the seat and grabbing his stomach.

"God, that was delicious," Arya says, pushing the plate away from her. She's been living on a fast food diet for weeks now. She forgot what home cooked meals tasted like.

"Thanks," Gendry replies. He's still finishing off his third portion of stir-fry. "It was too expensive to eat out all the time, so I had to learn how to cook."

"I'm impressed. The most I can make is cereal. Sometimes I get really intense and cook up some ramen noodles."

Gendry smiles. "Yeah, I don't really see you as the domestic type. But then again- it'd be funny to see you with your hair all done up and an apron around your waist."

Arya throws her napkin at Gendry. "Shut it."

Gendry puts on a high, mock voice. "Oh, your tea will be ready in just a minute, Mr. Waters. Can I rub your feet, Mr. Waters? Shall I run you a bath, Mr. Waters?"

Arya picks up a spare noodle from her plate and flings it at Gendry's face. It sticks right to his cheek. "I said, shut it," she says, blushing.

"All right, all right." Gendry picks up their plates and walks over to the sink. "But come on, you could at least help me with the dishes. I did cook for you."

"Fine," Arya mutters. She walks over to the sink and starts washing the dishes, handing them to Gendry to dry as she goes. A few dishes in, she gives a gigantic yawn. Nymeria looks up from the floor and cocks her head to the side. "I'm just tired," Arya tells her.

"Long day?" Gendry asks.

"I woke up at seven. Thought I'd get some extra practice in before you started pestering me. Don't worry, though. Nothing dangerous or especially life-threatening."

Gendry smirks. "Of course not. Well, we can go to sleep soon if you want. I have to work early in the morning anyways." He turns to Arya and looks down at her. Sometimes Arya forgets how tall he is. When they're standing this close, he towers over her. "Here's the thing," Gendry says. "We'll have to share the bed."

Arya starts blushing furiously. She wishes she didn't do that so easily. "We-" she sputters. "What? I mean- I can sleep on-"

Gendry starts laughing as Arya continues to stutter and blush. He doubles over and holds his stomach. When he finally stands up, there are few tears leaking out of his blue eyes. "God. The look on your face. I was kidding, Arya. I'll sleep on the couch." He starts laughing again. "I didn't know you'd be so terrified to share a bed with me. I'm not that horrible, am I?"

"I wasn't-" Arya starts stuttering again. Of course she wasn't scared. She was worried and embarrassed. How would she be able to control herself with Gendry in a bed next to her. "I wasn't terrified. You just took me by surprise. And there's no way I'm going to let you sleep on the couch. It's your apartment. I'll take the couch."

"Don't be stupid. You have to race in two days. Take the bed. You need rest."

"No. You take the bed," Arya retorts again. "Stop being so stubborn." Her and Gendry stare at each other for a few seconds before they both seem to have the same idea at the same time.

Arya gets a head start. She shoves Gendry to the side before racing towards the living room. She dives straight for the couch and lands with a thump. She tries to lie down so that she can take up the whole couch, but Gendry is right behind her, and he jumps next to her. "Off the couch," he yells, tickling her sides.

Arya starts laughing and rolling around. "Stop," she gasps as Gendry continues to tickle her.

"Nope," Gendry laughs, his eyes sparkling. "Not until you promise to take the bed."

"Never!" Arya jumps forward and starts attacking Gendry, climbing on top of him so that she can tickle his neck. They continue to tickle each other until Arya is completely out of breath and red in the face. "All right!" Arya finally gasps. "I give up. You win!"

"Victory!" Gendry yells.

She's suddenly very aware that she's straddling Gendry and that their limbs are twisted together. He looks at her, and the knot of desire grows. Their bodies are flushed and pressed together. If she leaned down just a little bit further, she could press a kiss to his full lips. Gendry's thumb absentmindedly traces her lower back where her shirt has slipped up. The bare skin tingles under his touch.

Slowly, Arya starts to lean forward, but Gendry clears his throat. "So you should get to bed then."

Arya's stomach drops. How could she be so stupid for a second time? She's literally on top of him. If Gendry wanted her, he would have done something about it. "Right," she says, trying her best to make her voice sound normal. "Bed." She awkwardly dismounts and heads down the hallway towards the bedroom. "Good night, Gendry."

A few hours later, Arya is still wide-awake. She changed into an oversize t-shirt and biking shorts. But despite Gendry's bed being comfortable, she can't sleep. All she can do is think about him. She rolls over and groans into the pillow. Fuck, she thinks, frustrated, even the pillow smells like him. I shouldn't be thinking about Gendry, I should be thinking about the race on Friday. She knew it was a bad idea to sleep over. She should have listened to her own advice.

Groaning, she rolls over again and stares at the ceiling fan as it spins round and round. She stays like that for a few minutes before hearing footsteps in the hallway. They get closer and closer, and Arya grips the comforters, half-scared, half-excited. The doorknob turns and a dark shadow edges into the room.

Arya sits up. "Gendry?" She whispers.

The figure gets closer until she can see Gendry in the dim light. He's shirtless, and his bare skin looks hallow in the moonlight. Arya shivers.

"Gendry?" She repeats.

"Sorry," he whispers. He lifts up the covers and Arya automatically moves over so that he can slide into bed. "It was my first time trying to sleep on that couch. Apparently, it's fucking uncomfortable as hell."

"Oh," Arya says softly. It's a small bed. Their shoulders are just barely touching, yet her whole body is warm.

"I hope you don't really mind sharing."

"No," Arya says. "I don't mind at all."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
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> 
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